Indelible
by bannerday
Summary: Some experiences, some people, stick with you forever, leaving their mark on your memories. You can't escape what they meant to you and you can't re-write the past. It's indelible. But the future isn't set in stone…it's yours to write. A story about forks in the road of life and a past with a future. AH/AU/Canon couples
1. Boy on a Bike

**Summary: Some experiences, some people, stick with you forever, leaving their mark on your memories. You can't escape what they meant to you and you can't re-write the past. It's indelible. But the future isn't set in stone…it's yours to write. A story about forks in the road of life and a past with a future.**

**Indelible**

**A/N**: Thanks for giving this fic a shot. And hang in there. It's a little different but I think you'll like where it goes

Disclaimer: No infringing going on here or in any of the coming chapters.

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**Chapter 1: Boy on a Bike**

I couldn't breathe. I just sat behind the wheel of Charlie's pick-up truck, frozen in shock as my heart slammed in my chest.

I hadn't noticed the boy on the bike until he was already shooting out in front of me, right after the light had changed. Somehow I'd managed to hit the brakes in time and he sailed past, unscathed, trying to outride the coming rain. He never even looked up. He just disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared.

The sky opened up just as an impatient honk sounded behind me. I jumped, my eyes snapping to the rear-view mirror, to the sport utility vehicle behind me, its occupant gesturing an irritated and universal _what-the-hell_ as I remained stopped at the green light. It was obvious he had just pulled up and hadn't seen the near-collision…nor the elusive boy on the bike.

I wondered if I'd really seen him.

Grasping the wheel with shaky hands, I hit the accelerator abruptly and Charlie's truck lurched forward. I felt the sudden drench of panicky sweat and turned a hard right into the gas station just past the intersection. Pulling up near the garage and killing the engine, the attack hit full throttle: tears, chest pains, hideous gasping sounds.

Sudden quick sharp raps on the passenger-side door startled me.

Big Sam Uley stood outside in the downpour in his Shell station rain slicker. He must have heard the squeal of the tires as I'd pulled in and had come running from the garage bay. His hands cupped around his eyes as he leaned close to the passenger window, peering in.

"Bella? You okay?" he hollered over the drum of pelting rain. I shook my head.

"Unlock the door!" he yelled.

Nodding and gasping noisy, ugly gulps, I hit the unlock button and Sam barreled into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut behind him, dripping everywhere. He whipped the hood of his slicker off his head.

"What's wrong? You sick?"

I shook my head. "P-panic at-tack," I croaked between ungodly gasps.

"Okay, take it easy. You've got to slow your breathing or you'll hyperventilate."

I nodded stiffly and closed my eyes. Sam wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. I was no stranger to panic attacks, though it had certainly been awhile.

Placing my hands on my stomach, I tried to slow my breathing, paying attention to the steady push and pull of deliberate breaths. Sam's low, deep voice coached and counted my inhales and exhales, helping me to focus. I began to calm and the attack gradually passed, leaving me feeling wrung out, weak, and clammy.

"Better?" His voice was cautious. He was watching me like he might not trust my answer.

I nodded as embarrassment crept in, replacing the panic. "Yeah. Um…thanks, Sam. For coming out. And for staying."

His eyes were kind. He just shrugged like it was no big deal. "Sure."

"The counting helped," I told him, trying to think of something, anything, to say, rather than just sit there stupidly.

"Being in the delivery room with Emily a few times taught me something about focusing on breathing." He gave me a little smile but his eyes were serious and a little uncertain.

"What happened, Bella?" he finally asked. "What brought that on? Was it because of…your dad?" Worry suddenly filled his eyes, as if I might flip out on him all over again. "You don't have to say if you don't want to."

I shook my head. "No, no. It's okay. It had nothing to do with Charlie. I just… Oh God…" I closed my eyes, rubbing at them with my fingertips, as if I could erase the image from my thoughts. "I almost hit…someone…on a bike back there. A boy came out of nowhere after the light changed." I gestured toward the intersection.

"A little kid? Out in this rain?"

I shook my head. "No. Older. A teenager." I couldn't be more specific; Sam would think I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had. Thankfully he didn't ask if I'd recognized the boy. He merely huffed and shook his head.

"Young punks think they own the road. No wonder you were so shaken up." He gave me a sympathetic look. "As if you haven't been through enough lately." He glanced out the windshield toward the gas station. The rain was beginning to let up a little.

"Sit tight for a minute, okay?" he asked, turning back to study me. I nodded, but before I could ask why, he was already yanking his hood up and opening the door. He ducked back out into the rain and slammed the door behind him. I watched as he darted through the rain and ran into the convenience store.

He returned with two bottles of soda. "Take your pick," he said, once he'd climbed back into the truck. "I figured you could probably use the sugar. You're still white as a ghost." He gave a soft snort and shook his head, giving me a gentle smile. "Hell, Bella, when I first saw you, you looked like you'd _seen_ a ghost."

My breath caught in my throat, but I managed a smile in return and took one of the sodas, mumbling a thank you. He nodded as we popped the caps and drank. It felt good going down—cold, crisp and sweet.

I looked out the driver's side window, watching as a car pulled up to the pumps. "I'm sure you need to get back to work, Sam. I'm sorry I..."

He must have sensed I was embarrassed about the whole panic episode. Wiping his hand across his mouth he interrupted me. "It's no big deal. Paul's in the garage. It's been a slow day and most folks use self-serve and debit or credit cards. There's not much that needs doing." Sure enough, the customer, a young man, climbed out of his car, paid at the pump with a card and began pumping his own gas.

Sam looked back at me, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he spoke. "Are you holding up okay, Bella?"

I knew he was referring to Charlie. I took a deep breath and sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just take it one day at a time, you know?" He nodded but remained quiet as we drank our sodas.

The rain finally stopped though dark clouds still threatened.

"I'd better get going before the rain starts up again," I said, looking up at the sky.

"You sure you're alright to drive?" he asked. I could hear the concern in his voice.

"Yeah. I'm okay. I'll be fine. Thanks again, Sam…you know…for before."

"Don't worry about it." He opened the passenger side door and climbed out but then paused and looked back in at me once more. "I guess I'll see you the day after tomorrow. I'm sure there'll be a big turn out to pay their respects."

I nodded.

"Take care of yourself, Bella."

"I will. Goodbye, Sam."

I pulled out of the gas station and headed home, telling myself I wasn't going to think about the near-accident until I got there. But that was useless. I thought about it the whole way home. I saw those fleeting glimpses in my mind over and over again:

The green light. The sudden streak of movement coming from the side. A bicycle.

The singular and unexpected head of wild, bronze hair, nearly standing on end in the wind.

Pale skin and a remarkably strong jaw.

Flannel shirt flapping around a tall, lanky body as long legs pumped the mountain bike's pedals furiously.

Sam's words whispered in my ears: "…_you looked like you'd seen a ghost_."

I hadn't actually lied to Sam, but it really wasn't the near-accident that had brought on my panic attack. It was the boy on the bike himself. The shock of the familiarity and impossibility of him…of Edward Cullen.

He'd been all my firsts and he'd been everything to me. Right up until he didn't want to be anything to me.

They say you never forget your first love.

They would be right.

The boy I saw on the bike looked to be about seventeen years old. But that couldn't be. We had both been seventeen over twenty years ago.

Edward Cullen would be thirty nine by now. Like me.

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**A/N: Hmmm… Hang in there. This is a cougar-free fic.**


	2. Thoughts on Forks

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Thank you for the wonderful fan-fic-fire-fuel reviews of chapter 1! If you review, I will always try to reply.

Disclaimer: Look elsewhere for infringers.

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**Chapter 2: Thoughts on Forks**

I have no idea how long I stayed in Charlie's truck after pulling into the driveway. I just sat there, thinking about a boy from my past, certain I'd seen him and certain I hadn't.

It wasn't until the rain made its reappearance, with fat raindrops spattering and trickling tears down the windshield, that I finally climbed out and made a dash for the front porch.

I unlocked the door and let myself in to the sound of barking.

"Shh, Fitz. It's just me."

Toenails clicked a canine happy dance on hardwood as the barking continued.

"Quiet down, you silly thing. Sit!" I pointed. His rump dropped abruptly to the floor. "Good boy."

I shrugged out of my rain jacket, hanging it on the coatrack in the entryway. He waited patiently, one ear cocked, the other at ease as always. I bent down and rifled a hand through the crazy fur of his brindled coat, thumping his side and giving him a quick scratch behind his mis-matched ears. His pink slice-of-ham tongue hung out one side of his toothy grin, his tail sweeping the floor as he wagged.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy had been a thin and scraggly mutt when he'd found me several years earlier but I'd seen his inner beauty and potential. I'm sure if I'd been living at home at the time, Charlie would have put his foot down about me taking in the homeless. As it was, I'd been living in an apartment on my own again by then, and I'd been happy for the company. Fitz had seemed happy for the company as well and undoubtedly for the regular meals and warm and relatively plush accommodations.

When I'd moved back home to help Charlie out nearly a year ago, Fitz had been part of the deal. By that time Charlie was already used to him as a regular visitor and I think having Fitz around was somewhat therapeutic for him.

I headed for the kitchen, flipping on the light switch as I went. "Who wants doggy-dinner?"

Fitz did. His toenails click-clicked along close behind me.

"And who really needs a glass of wine?" I asked myself, once I'd set Fitz' bowl on his placemat and he began chowing down.

I scanned the contents of the refrigerator. Friends and neighbors had been especially kind in the past week. The number and variety of offerings in the refrigerator and freezer were a testament to that. I just didn't feel very hungry lately, my stomach and my life equally upset.

Pouring a glass of wine, I sat down at the kitchen table and pulled a notepad and pen close. I crossed off another item on my to-do list: _drop off Dad's uniform_. Pushing the pad and pen back across the table, I reached for the most recent edition of the weekly Forks Forum. I slid it over, looking at the photo of my dad in his uniform on the front page. The accompanying article was identical to the one in the Peninsula Daily News, lying just beneath the Forks Forum.

"I think Eric Yorkie did a decent job, you know?"

Fitz looked up, his bowl now empty and licked clean. He cocked his head, as if he'd missed what I'd said, so I repeated myself.

"You know, Eric Yorkie, over at the Forks Forum? He didn't go overboard with what he wrote. Charlie would have approved."

Fitz looked over his shoulder, as if expecting Charlie's presence. I'd done the same myself several times in the past week.

"Want to hear what Eric wrote?" I asked.

Fitz sat. Apparently he did want to hear, so I cleared my throat and read.

_**City of Forks Mourns Community Leader**_

_Former Forks Police Chief, Charles "Charlie" Geoffrey Swan, age 61, died on April 7, 2013. _

_Born in Forks, Washington on October 28, 1951, to Geoffrey and Helen Swan, both deceased, Charlie was a graduate of Forks High School, class of 1970. Following an early interest in civics and law-enforcement, he joined the police force in 1972. Remaining in Forks, he worked his way up through the ranks, serving and protecting his hometown for forty years. He started as a patrolman, advanced to Sergeant in 1978, and in 1986, Charlie Swan became the youngest Chief of Police in Forks' history. He served in that capacity for twenty four years until forced to retire in May of last year, after suffering a stroke. _

_Charlie was a member of the Fraternal Order of Police, Olympic Mountain Lodge 23 and a member of the Washington Association of Sheriffs and Police Chiefs in Clallam County. _

_He maintained close ties to life-long friends in Forks and on the Quileute reservation in La Push. In his free time, Charlie was an avid fisherman. _

_Charlie is survived by his daughter, Isabella Swan, of Forks, Washington._

_A funeral service will be held at 10:00 AM on Wednesday, April 17, 2013, at the Community Church in Forks. _

By the time I'd finished reading, I was in tears and Fitz was eyeing me with concern.

"You have every right to be concerned," I cried. "Today I saw a boy I couldn't possibly have seen and now I'm reading an obituary to a dog." His tail wagged slightly at the word dog.

I grabbed a tissue, wiping at my eyes. Then I took another and blew my nose. After a shaky breath I took a shaky sip of wine before returning the Forks Forum newspaper to the opposite side of the table.

Forks. Such an apropos name.

I remember as a child asking if there were towns named Spoons or Knives. Mom had said I asked such strange questions. Dad had said he was doubtful, explaining that Forks had been named for the forks in the many nearby rivers.

As time went by, I became convinced the name Forks had even less to do with the nearby Sol Duc, Quillayute, Bogachiel, Hoh or Calawah rivers than it had to do with utensils. It seemed to have more to do with the forks in the road of life. The options and decisions sort of forks, which could be life-altering, not just for the decision-maker-fork-taker but for those who loved them. The ones they'd loved and left behind.

My mother, Renee, had been a fork-taker. She had breezed into Forks before she was twenty, travelling up the coast of the western United States with a girlfriend. When the girlfriend headed back down south to California, Renee opted out of the return trip. She'd found the Pacific Northwest and my father dreamy and interesting enough to stay, and remained behind to take a half-assed stab at marriage and motherhood.

Renee's affinity for pine green, raincloud gray, and Charlie Swan had waned after a handful of years. Always described as somewhat flighty, she eventually did take flight, veering off in a new direction with me in tow. Renee blazed a trail south in the years that followed, leaving a trail of failed relationships in her wake. I never knew quite what or whom to expect when I returned to Renee for the school year, after my childhood summers in Forks with Dad.

The one uniformity in Mom's capricious flings seemed to be her love of a man in uniform. After Policeman Charlie in Forks there had been Mailman Dave in Los Angeles, followed by Security Guard Don in Las Vegas, and finally Ballplayer Phil in Phoenix. Phil was the one to finally stick and they married a year later.

But two years after that, with an impending move to Jacksonville as Phil's career took off, I took off as well. Like a homing pigeon, or maybe a homing swan, I returned to the nest in Forks to finish out my high school years with Dad, freeing Mom up to follow Phil from ballpark to ballpark.

Mom had been the first to check out of Forks; Dad the most recent. I hadn't expected Mom to ever return. I knew for certain Dad wouldn't…though I suppose he would never completely leave this place.

Of course there had been others besides Mom who'd set their sights beyond Forks. High school friends and acquaintances had headed off to points beyond, pursuing the paths that led to their futures. And years later, a disenchanted husband had followed suit, though I think I'd probably left him long before he'd decided to physically leave me.

For all of them, it had been obvious their time in Forks had expired. They'd been restless to move on, anxious to get away.

But Edward Cullen had been different. When the time had come for him to leave, he had been reluctant about going. And then after that, we had both mistakenly assumed he would always return, at the very least.

And even when he had left for good I'd waited for a long time.

And hoped.

Until I'd finally stopped waiting.

And eventually gave up hoping.

For years afterwards…maybe still…I'd always felt he'd departed before the clock had run out, and I'd always wondered, what if things had been different for us? What if our roads hadn't diverged in the green-not-yellow wood of Forks? Would that have made all the difference?

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**A/N: ****The last lines are a reference to **_**The Road Not Taken**_**, by Robert Frost.**


	3. Food for Thought

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews and rec's. They make me want to write.

Big hugs to Twi-Holic68 for the lovely Indelible banner on my profile page. She's a big bowl of fabulous for finding Bella's dog, Fitz. Be sure to check it out!

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**Chapter 3: Food for Thought**

I took a quick shower after I'd finished my glass of wine. The hot water soothed me as I washed away the grubbiness of the panic attack I'd had on my way home. I suppose I was also attempting to wash away the crazy imaginings that had brought on that panic attack.

I had pulled on pajamas and just finished drying my hair when the doorbell rang. Grabbing my robe, I shrugged into it as I headed downstairs, where Fitz was already in position, barking at whoever was on the other side of the door. I shushed him and peered through the peephole in the door. Charlie's next-door neighbor stood on the front porch in her raincoat, her hood pulled up to shield her graying red bouffant and stylish tri-focal glasses. She was holding a plastic grocery bag by its tied handles.

Mrs. Cope was sixty-one like Dad had been. They had known each other since childhood, back when she was still Shelly Anderson and Forks only had half its current population. She and Charlie had even been in the same graduating class at Forks High. After graduating, she'd gone off to college and nursing school and then returned to Forks to marry her high school sweetheart, George Cope. They'd bought the house next door to my parents when I was just a toddler.

Opening the door, I greeted her with a smile. She returned my smile, but hers faltered as she surveyed my appearance—all ready for bed at only six o'clock.

"Bella, are you sick, honey?" There was instant concern in her gentle voice and bright blue eyes.

"No, no, I'm fine. I just took an early shower and wanted to get comfortable." I motioned for her to come inside.

Hopefully my words were convincing. I certainly didn't want to tell her I'd had a panic attack because I'd nearly run over my high school boyfriend—a boy who hadn't lived in Forks for two decades—nor did I want her to know that said boy hadn't appeared to age in the intervening twenty years. The nurse in Shelly might be inclined to whisk me off to a trained professional for evaluation and observation if I were to let that slip.

Her smile reappeared as she carefully removed her hood. "Well, you're certainly allowed to get all cozy on a rainy afternoon like this."

She hefted the bag in her hand and I saw it held a plastic container. "I just stopped by because George wanted soup tonight, so I made his favorite—chicken and dumplings. I remembered it was your favorite when you were little, so I brought you some. It's still hot, but it'll keep if you've had dinner already."

When Mom and Dad had divorced, it was Mrs. Cope, off work until the fall, who had watched me during the day whenever Charlie had to work during my summer visits to Forks. The Copes had never had children of their own, but Shelly Cope had mothered hundreds during the school year, working in the high school attendance office and fulfilling the role of school nurse when needed.

"Oh, Mrs. Cope. Thank you. That was really thoughtful." I smiled and took the bag from her outstretched hand. "I actually haven't eaten. I just… I really…"

I was about to say I didn't have much of an appetite, but when I caught the aroma, my stomach growled and I suddenly realized just how hungry I was. "Oh, gosh, this smells absolutely wonderful."

She looked pleased. "Well, I just figured…you know…with the rain…and all…maybe you needed some comfort food, honey." Her voice cracked a little and her eyes were suddenly glassy. "Gosh darn it. I told myself I wouldn't cry," she said, dabbing briskly at her eyes.

I shifted the bag to the side and pulled her in for a one-armed hug. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"I'm such a big baby," she said as she hugged me back tightly. "I just can't believe he's gone."

"I know," I said, tearing up in her familiar maternal embrace. "Me neither."

Mr. Cope always said he and his wife had picked the safest place in Forks to live—right next to the home of the future Chief of Police. As it turned out, Dad and I had been lucky to have a retired nurse living in the house next door when he had the stroke a year ago. Mrs. Cope had recognized stroke symptoms when he had shown up on her doorstep one morning, slightly disheveled, visibly distressed, and unable to speak. She'd called the paramedics and then called me home from the apartment I'd had in Port Angeles at the time.

We hadn't been as lucky when Charlie suffered the heart attack that had claimed his life a week ago. But Shelly's presence had bought me a year with my dad that I might not otherwise have had. And despite the fact that it had been a tough year, it had also been a good year, and I would be forever grateful for that extra time with Charlie.

Pulling away, Mrs. Cope gave me an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I swear I didn't come over here to upset you and make you cry. I just wanted to bring you a little something in case you were hungry and didn't feel like making anything."

I nodded and swiped at my eyes. "I know. It's okay. And I think this soup is just what I need, so thank you for bringing it over."

"Of course." She smiled sympathetically. "You know you're like family, Bella. Our door is always open to you if you ever need anything or you just want some company. George and I are always home."

I nodded and thanked her again, and once we'd said our goodbyes, I settled back at the kitchen table and ate. Fitz followed my every move with a well-practiced look of starvation in his eyes. I thought about Mrs. Cope's kindness as I shared the last few bits of chicken and dumpling with him and then washed out the container.

Halfway through my junior year I'd returned to Forks to live with Charlie full-time, freeing Mom up to follow Phil from ballpark to ballpark in his rising career in the minors. Even though I knew he loved me, living with Charlie was awkward those first few days, and I wondered how he really felt about having me there for the long haul. I didn't want to be an inconvenient obligation.

It was Mrs. Cope who had given me a different perspective on the situation.

She'd been there in the front office at Forks High my first day—that first day of second semester. She'd handed me my schedule of classes and then leaned forward and quietly said, "I know your dad is on the quiet side, Bella, and he might not show it, but I know he's really been looking forward to having you come live with him." Smiling at my probable look of surprise, she'd added, "Think about it, honey. He makes it his job to keep others safe. Imagine how happy he must be to really have someone of his very own to take care of—and not just for a short visit."

In the days that followed I paid attention to my father's actions and words. He didn't hover like Mom did, but I thought I saw evidence of what Mrs. Cope had surmised. Eventually I decided our initial awkwardness was probably due to both of us feeling equally apprehensive, wondering how the other really felt about the situation.

"Come on, Fitz. Let's go up and read for a while." I patted my leg and he dutifully accompanied me upstairs as my thoughts drifted back to that first day of school.

I'd returned to the office at the end of the day to hand in a copy of my schedule, initialed by each teacher throughout the day as I'd checked into each class. Mrs. Cope had been there at the counter once again, deep in conversation with a student...my Advanced Biology lab partner. Waiting my turn, I'd hung back by the door, trying not to eavesdrop, though I couldn't help but overhear bits and pieces. It seemed he was trying, unsuccessfully, to make a schedule change. Clearly frustrated, he finally gave up, brushing past me with an angry glare and storming out the door.

Mrs. Cope rolled her eyes, but then she smiled at me as I approached. Moments later she burst into a fit of laughter and assured me that Edward Cullen certainly wasn't trying to drop Advanced Biology because of me.

As I entered my bedroom, Fitz bounded up onto the bed, making his circular approach and then flopping into position. I headed to my bookcase, looking for an escape. Something I could sink into so I didn't have to think. Something familiar.

I scanned the books I'd lugged all over the Olympic Peninsula—from Forks, to Seattle, to Port Angeles, and back again. I hadn't brought all my books back home—not by any stretch of the imagination. Most of them were in storage with the rest of my former apartment. I'd only moved my most important belongings back home, since there was so little room here.

My current pared-down book collection held a few childhood favorites and some well-thumbed classics I'd loved in high school—books I nearly knew by heart, like the leather-bound volume of Shakespeare—its _Romeo and Juliet_ pages coming loose after so many readings. There were a few poetry books and a variety of high school and college required readings that had become more than a requirement to me. There were some other books as well. My eyes skipped over the glossy series of Young Adult romance novels by I. M. Byrd and moved on to some recent purchases I'd read and kept.

I reached out several times, changing my mind each time. Nothing really appealed to me. Nothing spoke to me.

But that was a lie.

Something was speaking to me, all right. It just wasn't here on the shelves with the other published books.

I chewed at my lip for a moment before finally turning away from the bookshelves. I went to my closet, opened the door and then moved my laundry basket aside. Shoved into the corner was an unmarked box that spoke to me—its contents loudly calling to me. I suppose I should have known I would wind up here, crouched on the floor, wrestling the box from its hiding place so I could retrieve the book I sought from its cardboard vault.

Ignoring several stacks of letters that lay beneath, I took the book out, closed the box up, and shoved it back into the corner. After arranging my pillows and myself on my bed, I looked down at the old spiral notebook in my hands. Its green cover matching the fading ink within. The color choice had been purely coincidental, yet fitting, for the scrawled musings of a seventeen year old girl, in the greenest of locales, as her thoughts slowly turned to a boy with the greenest of eyes.

Opening the notebook, I crept into the past.

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**A/N: So…like the chapter title... there's some food for thought.**


	4. Into the Green

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews. I love your ponderings! This chapter is jumping into the past, 22 years ago, to 17-year-old Bella. Journal entries are in italics and flashback "snapshots" are in regular font. In future chapters you'll get bits of the present, interspersed with pieces of the past…until the two converge.

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**Chapter 4: Into the Green**

_Friday, February 1, 1991_

_Made it home. And that's just weird. Charlie's house is now home. Well, it used to be my home too, I guess. It's just weird to think of it that way, especially since I haven't been to Forks for the past few years. The drive back from the airport in Port Angeles was weird too. Usually Charlie asks me about Phoenix and I tell him the latest but this ride was sort of uncomfortable and quiet at first, except for the radio. Halfway home he started talking more, but the questions were awkward and I started wondering if he was having second thoughts about letting me come live with him…_

*I*

He looks over as he drives. "Did you just cut your hair?"

"What?" I look down at my hair and frown because it hasn't been trimmed in ages. "I think it's actually longer than last time, Dad." He nods, looking back out the windshield and now he seems even more uncomfortable.

"Did you just…trim your mustache?" I ask after a moment, cocking an eyebrow and letting him know his question was kind of goofy.

He side-eyes me and then he chuckles. "Smart-aleck." He shifts and leans to look at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. "I think it's actually longer than last time, Bells."

I laugh and I see the smile lines crinkling at the corner of his eyes and I think maybe things will get more normal as we get used to this.

As we get to the Forks city limits he has a few more questions. "Do you have a favorite color? You're not into pink, are you?"

We're going to discuss favorite colors now? "Pink? No, I'm not into pink. I don't know. I don't really have a favorite. Why?"

He shrugs. "Just wondering. "How do you feel about green? Or purple?"

I squint at him, thinking how far away from normal this conversation seems to be going. Does he mean the Olympic Peninsula? It's green but I don't see any purple anywhere. He catches my expression and exhales in frustration.

"Purple's cool," I finally offer. "And I like green too." He seems to relax a bit, so I add, "They're good colors." He finally smiles and I think he looks like he's got a secret, but I'm afraid to ask because who knows where that conversation will go.

*I*

_After lunch at the diner we drove past the high school on the way home. Charlie got me registered earlier in the week. I just have to pick up my schedule in the front office on Monday before classes. He told me Mrs. Cope still works there, so I'll already have a friend at school. I hope he doesn't think I'll be hanging out with Mrs. Cope. She was always nice to me when I was little but it's already bad enough that I'm the daughter of the Chief of Police. My life will go right in the crapper if I'm best friends with the attendance lady. _

_When we got home I discovered what that green and purple conversation was about. Charlie fixed up my room. It's purple and green and that might sound weird, but it looks nice and I told him so. _

*I*

He's standing in the doorway, rubbing at the back of his neck and I can't help but smile because I get it now. He was worried I wouldn't like it. But I do.

"This is great, Dad. I really like the green paint. And the purple bedding." I turn and smile at him. "It hardly looks like the same room." He shrugs like it's no big deal, but he's wrong.

"It was time to fix the place up," he says. "I brought the rocking chair up from the living room so you'd have a place to sit and read. I got the desk and chair so you could do your homework. You can do work downstairs on the kitchen table, too," he quickly adds.

The boxes Mom mailed from Phoenix are stacked next to the desk. They hold books and knickknacks and some clothing I probably won't need until spring or summer. There's a small shopping bag on the desk and I'm wondering what's inside.

"I picked up a few school supplies but we can go shopping this weekend for whatever else you need," he says. I can feel him watching me as I go over to take a peek in the bag.

Inside are two spiral-bound notebooks—one green and one purple—and I smile. Dad must like those colors or maybe he just likes them for me. That's fine. I can do purple and green. There's also a package mechanical pencils and a pack of pens: black, blue, red and green. No purple. I wonder if that bothered him.

"I'll leave you to get settled and start unpacking," he says. "If you need any help, just holler. And don't worry about getting it all done today. You've got the rest of the weekend."

"Okay." I nod. "And thank you, Dad. The room really looks nice."

"Sure thing, Bells." He hesitates at the door. "Door open or closed?" he asks.

"Either's fine."

He starts to close it and then decides to leave it open.

I pull out the chair at my desk and sit down, sliding the green notebook and matching pen over. I've always liked writing, so I decide maybe I'll keep track of this new phase of my life. For all I know, it could be an adventure.

*I*

_Saturday, February 2, 1991_

_I HAVE A CAR! Okay, so it's a truck, not a car, and it's old, but I have transportation and how great is that? Now I won't have to ride to school in the police cruiser…because THAT would be the best way to NOT have any friends. Except for maybe Mrs. Cope._

_Charlie said he had an errand to run this morning while I was unpacking boxes. When he came back he called me from downstairs, telling me to come out and say hi to Billy Black and his son, Jake. The three of them were smiling up a storm when I got there, lined up in front of an old red truck on the driveway. (My truck!) _

_It's been a few years, but I recognized Billy right away. But Jake…he's grown up a lot. I guess I was still expecting a little kid with chubby cheeks, not some teenager with flashing white teeth. He could be in a toothpaste commercial._

*I*

"So, what do you think, Bells?" Dad asks after I come outside and say hi to the Blacks.

I don't understand his question. What am I supposed to say? Jake's teeth are commercial-perfect and Billy's hair is longer than I remembered?

"About…Jake and Billy?" I ask hesitantly. They burst into laughter and I can feel myself blush.

"No!" Dad says with a snort. "About this truck!" He smacks a hand down on the red fender.

"Oh. It's…nice," I say, looking from him to Billy to Jake and his white teeth, wondering why they want my opinion on their truck.

"Well, so far so good, Charlie," Billy says with a laugh as he looks at Dad. "That's what you were hoping to hear."

Jake's cracking up. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shrugs as he puts me out of my misery. "It's yours, Bella," he says kind of shyly.

"What?" I stare at him and he nods, grinning.

"WHAT?" I ask again as I turn to gawk at my dad.

He nods. "I know it's not much to look at, Bells, but it's a good, safe…"

I don't even hear the rest of what he's saying. I'm too busy jumping around and shrieking…

*I*

_Sunday, February 3, 1991_

_There is nothing more embarrassing in life than buying Tampax with your father. Unless maybe it's buying them with your daughter. I don't know which of us was more mortified. Next time I'll go by myself, but this was an emergency. I also got a few more school supplies and we got some decent groceries into the house._

_I took inventory in the kitchen this morning. It took two minutes to figure out Dad isn't much of a cook. And his cookware was gross! He said he usually makes something easy or eats at the diner. So after soup and sandwiches for dinner on Friday, and take-out pizza with Jake and Billy yesterday, I decided to do something about dinner. And the disgusting cookware. _

_At the store he was rolling his eyes at all the stuff I told him we needed, but he really liked the lasagna I made tonight. (In the new Pyrex dish!) And the cookies. (On the new cookie sheets!) He didn't realize I could cook but I told him the alternative was to eat Mom's experiments. That made him laugh until I gave him examples and he realized I was dead serious._

_Everything is now organized and put away in my room and I start school tomorrow._

_Oops, almost forgot… On our way out of the store Dad saw Mrs. Weber and her daughter and he introduced us. Angela was nice. She's in my grade. Maybe we'll have some classes together. She said she would look for me in the cafeteria tomorrow for lunch. I guess Mrs. Cope is on her own._

*I*

_Monday, February 4, 1991_

_Holy hell…I don't know how I'll face Forks High tomorrow. _

_At least the day started out okay. _

_It was nice to see Mrs. Cope this morning. She thinks Dad is really happy to have me here to take care of, but I can't help thinking I'm sort of disrupting his normal routine. _

_My schedule is Algebra 2, PE, American Lit., Journalism, Lunch, Advanced Biology, and Spanish 3. In that order. My morning classes were okay, but everything went to hell after that. _

_I met Angela at lunch and we sat with some of her friends. I don't remember all their names, but I won't forget Jessica Stanley anytime soon. She talked non-stop, pointing out every person of interest and disinterest in the entire cafeteria._

_If only that were the worst of it. But no…_

*I*

"…and over there are the jocks. The cute guy in the letterman's jacket is Mike Newton. He's a junior and he plays varsity football and baseball. Tyler Crowley, next to him, is also in our grade. He's a great wrestler but he's kind of weird. Sitting across from Mike is Austin Marks, a senior. He plays basketball and thinks he's God's gift to women…"

I stop looking at Jessica. If I concentrate on my yogurt maybe she'll get the hint. But she doesn't.

I think Angela is a saint to hang out with her. Maybe it's because her father is a minister and she's just being charitable. She gives me an apologetic look and then a polite little eye roll and that strikes me funny so I return the eye roll and now she's biting back a smile. Angela is kind, but I think she might have a tiny sarcastic streak that's dying to get out…and be a little uncharitable. I like her.

Jessica continues vomiting up information and gossip instead of eating. Maybe her food is just a prop.

"…and the girl in the green dress is Samantha Larkin. Her parents paid for her to get a nose job over winter break and it doesn't even look any different…"

Angela says something about Samantha having sinus problems and a deviated septum but my focus shifts to a group of students just coming through the lunch line. They stand out because everyone else is already seated and eating. One of them, a tall boy, catches my eye—well, his hair does. I can't see his face, but his hair is windswept and untamed and very unusual. The tawny, reddish-brown color combination makes me think of a lion's mane.

He turns and my breath catches in my throat because his face is even more stunning than his hair. He's not just good-looking, he's absolutely gorgeous. I can't help staring at him. "Who is…?" I stop and rephrase my question. "Who are _they_?"

Luckily, Jessica has finally stuffed a carrot stick into her mouth, so the boy from my journalism class volunteers the answer so Jessica doesn't have to spit carrot chunks everywhere.

"They're our student government crowd…you know...the Associated Student Body officers. The Leadership class must have gotten out late.

Jessica jumps right in. She must have swallowed her carrot stick whole. "And they're…_together," _she says pointedly.

As they approach and pass our table in pairs, she begins whispering names, grades, and elected positions. "Emmett McCarty, senior, and Rosalie Hale, junior…Athletic Commissioner and Secretary…Alice Brandon, junior, and Jasper Whitlock, senior…Activities Commissioner and Vice President…and Edward Cullen, senior, and Ben Cheney, senior…President and Treasurer."

"Wait…" I whisper. "Those two guys… _They're_ together, too?"

Jessica bursts into obnoxious laughter, loudly exclaiming, "Holy crap, Bella! No! They're not _gay_!"

She's just gotten the attention of everyone in the vicinity, including those two boys, who see Jessica looking from me to them and back as she giggles her empty head off. It's painfully obvious they were the topic of conversation. They glare at me like I'm a moron but move off to join their friends…who are watching…because they also heard Jessica.

I duck my head into my hands and stare down at the lunchroom table. I can never look anyone at Forks High School in the eye again. Except for maybe Angela, God bless her, because she's giving Jessica hell at the moment.

*I*

_I'm not just the new girl whose father is the Chief of Police anymore. Since lunchtime, I'm the new weird girl whose father is the Chief of Police and who thought ASB President, Edward Cullen, and Treasurer, Ben Cheney, were gay lovers. And THEY think I thought that! But they're not gay. I've been assured of that, along with everyone else. Loudly. By Jessica. I'm so mad at her I could just scream. She's the one who implied the ASB cabinet was all "together" in the first place! I was so embarrassed and sick to my stomach that I couldn't eat the rest of my lunch. I just sat there with my beet red face in my hands and felt everyone's eyes on me. _

_Thank God, kind, sweet Angela has fifth period Advanced Bio with me, so we walked to class together after lunch. She said she didn't know Edward Cullen or Ben Cheney very well, but she would explain the misunderstanding to Alice Brandon in sixth period and Alice could hopefully pass the word onto them tomorrow during their Leadership class. Then Angela told me everyone in Bio already had a lab partner, so maybe Mr. Banner would let me work with her and her partner, Lee Stevens._

_Unfortunately, that didn't work out, since another student added Advanced Biology right after I did and I wound up with my own lab partner. Even more unfortunately, my new lab partner is ridiculously attractive senior and student body President, Un-gay Edward the Lionheaded…_

* * *

**A/N: And so they meet. So near…and yet so mortifying. I hope you'll share your thoughts. **


	5. A Friend In Deed

**Indelible**

**A/N: **If you review, I will reply! :)

* * *

**Chapter 5: A Friend In Deed**

My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand next to me, interrupting my perusal of my old green notebook. Fitz, still lying curled up on the bed, lifts his head to look at me.

"I'm sure it's for me," I say, patting him. Fitz drops his head back down to the bed with a sigh. I pick up my vibrating phone and glance at the image on the screen as I take the call.

"Hey, Angela."

"_You knew it was me, Swan? So much for making a prank phone call!"_

I smile into the phone. "Yeah, the photo that comes up when you use your cell is a dead giveaway. You might want to consider using the old pay phone in front of the Food Mart next time." I hear Angela's familiar soft laugh.

"_I can just imagine setting that up… 'Ben, you're in charge of the kids. I'm going to pop over to the pay phone at the Food Mart to prank phone call Swan.' 'Sure thing, sweetheart. Drive carefully and pick up some Mint Chip ice cream while you're there.' He wouldn't even question it; he'd just go along."_

It's my turn to laugh. "He probably would. Pastor Ben knows our relationship is a special one—there'll be no salvation for us." My eyes drift down to the notebook, propped open on my lap. "I was just thinking of you, Angela…"

"_Because I've been badgering you with nightly phone calls and the occasional visit?"_

Angela has been a solid-rock-of-a-friend since the day we met. I've been particularly grateful for her friendship in the days since Charlie died. She has hugged me and cried with me, listened when I needed to talk, talked when I needed a distraction, and she's been helping me navigate and coordinate death's aftermath and arrangements.

"I love your badgering. You're the best of badgerers. But actually, I was remembering my first day at Forks High…you know…when Jessica made me think Ben and Edward were a couple…and then announced to the whole cafeteria that I thought they were gay lovers." Angela makes a squealing sound.

"_Oh gosh, I haven't thought about that in ages! That was awful!" _

"Tell me about it!" I say over her laughter. "You weren't the one whose face fried to a crisp in embarrassment…over and over again!"

"_No, but I felt your pain. There you were…the new girl…obviously on the shy side…and 'Assica' pulls that stunt on your very first day."_

I burst into giggles. It's been years since I've heard Jessica Newton referred to as 'Assica,' but it's even funnier coming from Angela, who is Reverend Weber's daughter and Pastor Ben's wife. She's such a good person and everyone thinks of her as the 'quintessential good girl' but I know she has a devilish streak.

"_How dreadful was it when Edward showed up to add fifth period Bio?!"_

"To be MY lab partner! The whole time he was talking with Mr. Banner I was chanting, _pleasegoaway, pleasegoaway, pleasegoaway_. I remember looking across the room at you…your eyes were as big as saucers."

"_I couldn't stand watching but I couldn't look away. It was such a train wreck!"_

"I know!" I start giggling as the scene unfolds in my mind…Edward turning away from Mr. Banner…heading to his assigned seat…his body stiffening as he spots me there…his expression grim as he brushes past behind me…pulls his chair out…and takes his seat with a huff.

"Poor Edward, he was too polite to actually say anything rude to me. He just sat there suffering in silence…with his chair practically in the aisle to get away from the weird, homophobic, new girl."

It takes Angela a few seconds to respond. She's too busy making snorting sounds.

"_Well, things worked out amazingly well after the debacle of your first day. Edward moved his chair back into place and within a few months' time, the hottest boy to walk the halls of Forks High was dating the weird, homophobic new girl…and I was dating heterosexual Ben!"_

We're both breathless from laughing. "Yeah…that was pretty amazing," I sigh.

Angela doesn't say anything for a moment. She knows another whole year of amazing followed the end of that school year…before the amazing came to a halt.

"_So, what made you think of that horrible day?" _she finally asks in a more serious voice.

"Oh, I was just…reading my old journal from high school…"

_Are you writing again?"_

Angela knows about the journal. She's heard excerpts and knows bits and pieces from it have found their way into relatively obscure print.

"No. I dug it out because…"

I'm not ready to tell her I imagined I saw Edward…because that's probably what that was, earlier today. Nor am I ready to examine why I would be imagining his presence here in Forks after all this time.

"I was thinking of when I moved here…how awkward it was at first, living with Charlie when I didn't really know him all that well and him trying to figure out how to parent a teenaged daughter full-time."

"_Well, of course it was awkward. For both of you. Even though you and your dad turned out to be alike in so many ways, you were used to living with your mom."_

I nod at her words. At the time, Mom's wacky was my normal.

"_Speaking of your mom… You never told me what she finally decided. Are you picking her up in Port Angeles? Is she staying with you?"_

"Oh, I didn't tell you… Of course the plans have changed—this is my mother we're talking about, after all. Since she turns into a basket case when she flies alone, Phil is now coming with her. And no, they're not staying here. Phil booked a room at the Miller Tree bed and breakfast. They're leaving Jacksonville at six tomorrow morning and should get into Port Angeles around one. Phil reserved a rental car, so they're just going to call when they get to Forks."

"_How long are they staying?"_

"The Suns just started their season and they really can't spare Phil from their coaching staff. He can only get away for two days. So they'll get here tomorrow afternoon, be here for the funeral on Wednesday, and then leave to fly back on Thursday around noon."

"_That's such a short time."_

"Yeah, but honestly I'm glad it worked out this way. I know my mom is doing this for me and of course she means well, but if she were to stay here for very long right now, she'd probably just drive me crazy. She'd look around the house for projects, offering to help pack up Charlie's things to store, donate, or toss out. She'd want to rearrange the furniture or buy new and start suggesting paint colors to brighten up the walls. I'm not ready to do any of that."

"_Of course you're not. It takes time to grieve and adjust."_

"I told her I'd come visit her in Jacksonville in the summer. That way, she's happy, we can spend some quality time together, and I won't be losing my mind."

"_You're a smart cookie, Swan. So, what are you doing tomorrow before they get here?"_

"No plans, why?"

"_The book nook at the Cup and Saucer is finally finished. Want to come check it out?" _

"Of course I do! Angela, that's great!"

"_I have to warn you…I might try and put you to work organizing books…but I'll feed you blueberry scones and pour café lattes down your throat."_

I'm smiling at the visual. Angela owns and manages the Cup and Saucer—the old Coffee Hut, where Angela, Alice and I worked during high school and off and on during our college years. When the Hut went up for sale a few years ago, Angela bought it, updated it and renamed it the Cup and Saucer. She recently expanded, taking over the tiny defunct shoe repair shop next door, providing customers a quiet side room to read, study, or work on laptops while they consume the Cup's offerings.

"I'm happy to help—especially if you're going to hand-feed me. I'll come by early."

"_Great! Then I'll see you tomorrow morning, Bella."_

"See you tomorrow. Goodnight, Angela."

I return my phone to the bedside table and scratch dozing Fitz.

"Who needs to go potty outside?" I ask. He lifts his head and looks my way. "No, it's not me," I tell him. "Guess again. Potty outside?"

He hoists himself up and shakes himself out, snout to tail, ears flapping loudly against his head. Finally he jumps down off the bed, stretches, looks over his shoulder to make sure I'm serious about this, and leads me downstairs.

I let him out into the backyard. The rain has stopped, but the grass will still be wet, so I grab a towel for his return. While he does his business, I lock up out front and turn off the lights in the living room. By the time I return to the back door, he's there, waiting to be let in. He waits patiently as I wipe his legs and paws down and then he stares at me expectantly until I give him a chicken cookie for his efforts.

Back upstairs I take care of my own bedtime business, including potty _inside_, hang up my robe, and finally return to my room. Crawling into bed, I pick up my journal once again and go back to my entry for that fateful first day at Forks High.

*I*

_Luckily, Mr. Banner turned on the overhead projector, turned off the lights, and lectured all period long so I didn't have to talk to Edward and he wasn't forced to talk to me. I let my hair fall to the side, hid my face behind it, and dove into my note-taking. When the bell rang at the end of the period, Edward was up and out the door before I could even gather my things. _

_I don't know how we're ever going to do labs together._

_Sixth period Spanish 3 wasn't much better. We had a substitute teacher who couldn't issue me a textbook. She let us sit wherever we wanted. Guess who sat next to me? Jessica. (I'm serious!) She was still stuck on the whole lunch ordeal, giggling her head off and wondering how I could think for one minute that hunky senior, Edward Cullen, was gay. I ignored her comments but at least she shared her book and I already knew most of the vocabulary we had to copy and translate. _

_After school I went back to the front office to turn in my new-student paperwork to Mrs. Cope. Edward was there, talking to her, trying to change his schedule from what I could overhear. Mrs. Cope just kept shaking her head and smiling politely at him. I was going to duck back out the door to avoid Edward but I wasn't fast enough. He turned around, saw me, gave me the stink eye, and left in a huff. _

_I had to know, so I asked Mrs. Cope if he was trying to transfer out of fifth period Advanced Bio. She seemed surprised I knew but said yes. When I asked if it was because of me, she laughed and wondered where I'd gotten such a crazy idea. _

_She probably wasn't supposed to tell me another student's business, but maybe she could tell I'd had a rough first day. Leaning over the counter she quietly said Edward was repeating the second semester of Advanced Bio because he had an Incomplete grade in it from the previous school year. She said he was just upset because he now had a full schedule of academics his final semester of his senior year and that meant he wouldn't be able to practice with the baseball team during sixth period Athletics…and he's Forks High's star pitcher. _

_Poor Edward. He has so many reasons to hate fifth period Advanced Bio. _

_I sure hope tomorrow is a better day. If every day is as bad as this one, I'll fill up this notebook in about a week._

*I*

I close my notebook, set it on the bedside table, and turn off the lamp there. I'm smiling as I slide down under the covers and wiggle my toes against Fitz' warm body, lying down at the end of the bed. I already know how the next day turned out, of course.

It was the day I met Alice Brandon.

And the first day Edward Cullen spoke to me.

* * *

**A/N: A few more answers and questions. Hope you'll share your thoughts. **


	6. Coffees to Go

**Indelible**

**A/N: **This chapter is going to answer a question or two.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Coffees to Go**

I wake up Tuesday morning and I'm shocked to find myself in bed, alone. Well, Fitz is still here, curled up next to my legs, but moments ago I was at Spartan Field, on the receiving end of a scorching kiss from Edward Cullen in his baseball uniform.

It's been awhile since he has sneaked into my dreams and it's been even longer since I've dreamed about him _that_ way, but damn, that boy sure knew how to kiss me stupid—dreams or otherwise. And it's just really pathetic that I would still dream about him after all this time. Especially that way.

Lifting my head, I look over to the alarm clock and next to it I spot the probable culprit that put Edward in my dreams. Reaching over, I pick up my old notebook. As I settle back to read, Mr. Darcy stirs, looking up at me and asking questions with his big brown doggy eyes.

"Nobody's getting out of bed yet, Fitz. Go back to sleep. It's still early." I reach down and pet him and he huffs but he's agreeable. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply and I open my old green notebook to pick up where I left off last night.

*I*

_Tuesday, February 5, 1991_

_Today certainly had its trying moments but I think I might survive this school year after all._

_We had to run laps today in PE and it was SO COLD but at least I was in sweats. Coach Clapp doesn't care if we walk, so I ran a little and walked a lot. With Jessica Stanley, who is in my PE class. I think she assumes she's my new best friend. Of course she brought up yesterday's lunchtime disaster and I decided to tell her Edward Cullen turned out to be my lab partner in Bio. When she finished laughing her head off I asked her about him. Big mistake. I'm pretty certain she now thinks I'm interested in him. She gave me this look, told me not to bother, and then told me all about Edward's "sordid past."_

*I*

"You're wasting your time, Bella," Jessica says, flipping her hair back over her shoulder as we walk around the track. "I mean, of course he's gorgeous. Anyone with eyes can see that. But he doesn't date. At least not anymore. Two years ago, when he was a sophomore and we were freshmen, he started going with a girl in our class…Tanya Denali. She was really pretty, with big blue eyes and long, strawberry blond hair. They were together the whole second semester and the summer that followed. But then her family moved to Seattle. Edward hasn't dated anyone since. Not all last year…and not so far this year."

"That's sad. Maybe he misses her," I say, because I think I should say something, even though I really don't know these people she's talking about.

"Personally, I think he probably got her pregnant," Jessica continues. "I think her family moved so she could have the baby. And then at the end of last school year, Edward was absent…like…_forever. _He even missed prom and final exams. Supposedly he was _sick_."

Her tone of voice tells me she is completely unconvinced of an illness on Edward's part. And the knowing expression on her face says she's waiting for me to arrive at the obvious conclusion—the conclusion she has arrived at—but I'm too slow, apparently, because she rushes to add up all the facts for me.

"I bet you anything he went to see her when the baby was born! He probably stayed there with her and then things must have not worked out between them, and now he's just, you know, pining away for her!" She shrugs and then she sniffs and gives her hair another flip. "Either that or none of the girls around here are pretty enough for him."

I bite my tongue to keep from snorting with laughter and just give her a thoughtful nod.

To me, it sounds like someone is jealous, possibly spurned, and quite probably, overly imaginative. Obviously I have to take anything she says with a grain of salt, but Mrs. Cope did say Edward was repeating Bio because he'd gotten a grade of Incomplete last year. That would certainly make sense if he'd been out with some kind of lengthy illness—but I'm doubtful it was a case of fatherhood.

*I*

_I seriously doubt Jessica's "theories" about Edward Cullen and his "mysterious past," but her theories made me even more curious about my cold and irritable, definitely un-gay, possibly lovelorn but doubtfully paternal, ASB president-star pitcher-lab partner, Edward Cullen._

_Third period American Lit was great. Jessica is in that class too, but so is a boy she seems to like, so maybe he'll keep her busy. But the great thing is that Alice Brandon is also in that class. And she's soooo nice! We partnered up for a poetry project. Alice and I are doing "The Road Not Taken," by Robert Frost. I have a really good feeling about Alice. I think we're going to become great friends. She even said so herself at the end of the period._

*I*

I'm sitting at my desk in Mr. Mason's classroom, doodling in my notebook, waiting for break to end and class to begin. More and more students begin filtering into class and Jessica walks in with the sandy-haired guy she pointed out to me yesterday in the cafeteria. Mark. Or maybe it was Mike? She's flirting with him, clasping her arms and pushing her boobs together and Mark-Mike keeps glancing down the front of her shirt when he thinks she's not looking.

Someone slides into the desk in front of mine. It's the pretty, dark-haired, student government waif-girl, Alice Something. She turns to face me with a friendly smile.

"Hi! I saw you come in. I'm Alice Brandon." I start to introduce myself, but she's already doing it for me. "And you're Bella Swan, of course! I already know who you are!" I blush because that must be a reference to me making a fool of myself in the cafeteria yesterday.

"Oh! I didn't mean it the way you're taking it!" she assures me quickly with wide blue eyes. "I just meant, I knew you were coming. We all did. Forks doesn't get many new students mid-year and news gets around."

"Oh, I see. That makes sense." I give her a tentative smile.

"Listen…" She leans closer, speaking quietly. "Don't worry about what happened yesterday at lunch. Angela told me what Jessica said—you know, about all of us in student government being _together_?" She pauses and I nod.

"I had a feeling that whole thing was Jessica's fault," she says, glancing over at Jessica, still giggling at Mark-Mike. Alice looks back at me. "I doubt she did it on purpose—she's just not that clever—but she didn't do anyone any favors laughing like a hyena and making the announcement she did."

Alice leans in closer still, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Between you and me…Jessica can be a real _Assica_ sometimes." I can't help snickering and Alice joins me, giving me a covert little wink. "Anyway," she says with a grin, "I'll straighten things out with Edward and Ben next period in Student Government. They'll understand."

"Thanks. I hope they understand. Edward is my lab partner in fifth period Bio and class was so uncomfortable yesterday. I had no clue what to do or say and he just seemed so angry."

She gives me an understanding look. "I don't think he was that upset about what happened at lunch. He was trying to sort out problems with his schedule and he was already mad about that before lunch."

"Oh." I nod, remembering my conversation with Mrs. Cope yesterday afternoon.

Alice smiles. "Anyway…next on the agenda… Mr. Mason is going to introduce a poetry project today in class. We'll get to pick partners, and a poem to analyze, and then we'll be reporting on the poem to the rest of the class. Do you want to be partners?"

"I…um...sure… I mean, of course." I frown. "How do you know what we'll be doing today?"

Alice laughs. "Well, I'm not psychic, if that's what you're wondering! My friend, Rosalie, is in Mr. Mason's second period American Lit class. She told me about today's lesson plan when I saw her in the hall a couple minutes ago."

"Oh! Duh!" I laugh and roll my eyes at myself.

Alice giggles. "Wait…" she says, putting her fingertips to her temples, appearing to zone out. After a few seconds, her blue eyes lock with mine and she says, "I foresee an outstanding grade on our poetry project!"

I like Alice already.

I like her even more when I get to Advanced Bio after lunch.

Edward is sitting at our lab table when I walk in, but when he looks in my direction I avert my eyes. Just in case. I set my books down on our table and pull out my chair, pulling it farther away from him, remembering he did the same yesterday. Again, just in case.

I feel his eyes on me as I take my seat.

"I promise I won't bite," a low voice says.

I look up in surprise, and yes, Edward Cullen has just spoken to me. I blush because…jeez Louise…not only is _he_ incredibly attractive, but so is his voice.

"Good," I reply. "James Porter bit me in first grade and lived to regret it."

I blush a little more as I realize what a dumb thing I just said, but Edward is smiling now and it's a crooked smile, which just makes it all the better—and all the worse—because it makes me blush even more.

"So,what happened to little James Porter?" There's amusement in Edward's voice.

"Little James Porter got himself a little black eye."

He laughs at that and I'm filled with relief because I think just maybe this might work out okay—if I can get my stupid blushing under control.

Edward clears his throat. "Look, uh, Bella…I'm sorry about yesterday…"

I interrupt him before he can get any further. "No, Edward. _I'm_ sorry. You have nothing to be sorry about…"

He cuts me off. "Yes, I do. I was very rude to…"

I shake my head. "You had every right to be. From what Jessica said in the cafeteria, I know it seemed like I thought you were…" I stop. I can't say it to his face. His ridiculously handsome face with those deep green eyes and sweeping lashes.

He nods in understanding. "I'm not, you know. Gay," he adds for clarification.

"I know. Me neither." As the words leave my mouth I promptly blush from the ends of my hair all the way to the tips of my toenails. What I just said is so stupid and I'm such a bumbling idiot and now Edward Cullen knows it too.

Fortunately Mr. Banner starts up the class right then and I can avoid Edward—though I can see him shaking with silent laughter out of the corner of my eye.

*I*

_Biology was so much better today than yesterday, although I can't seem to talk to Edward Cullen without making a fool of myself. I just hope he didn't think I was trying to tell him I was available when I told him I wasn't gay either. (As if someone like him would ever date someone like me!)_

_We had a lab to do, which helped keep me focused. I did the same lab back in Phoenix but didn't tell Edward that. I just let him be impressed when I did it quickly and correctly. If I'm lucky, he thinks I'm an intelligent girl who just says stupid things sometimes. At least it got easier to talk to him as we worked… _

*I*

I hear a whimper and I look up to see Fitz sitting on the floor, facing my bedroom door. He's looking back over his shoulder at me but he's in the ready-position to be let outside to do his morning business. I'd been so wrapped up in my notebook nostalgia I didn't even realize he'd jumped off the bed.

"Okay, Fitzy, give me a second." Folding my notebook open to the page I've been reading, I lay it down on the bedside table for later.

I get out of bed and follow Fitz downstairs to let him out the back door into the fenced-in backyard. While he takes care of his business, I go take care of my own. Returning to the kitchen, I make a single cup of coffee to start my day, knowing I'll have a second cup and probably even a third when I meet Angela at The Cup and Saucer.

When Fitz finishes sniffing and peeing the perimeter of the yard, he returns to the house for his morning treat and I drink my own morning treat as I make my bed, get dressed, and make myself presentable.

Angela sounded like she could use some help, so I'm just wearing jeans, my running shoes, a white T-shirt and a gray cardigan. Nothing fancy, in case I get put to work, but I look decent. It's almost eight o'clock, and the morning crowd has arrived, so I park Charlie's truck along the curb a half a block down the street from the coffee shop.

As I walk by the tinted-glass windows of The Cup and Saucer, I can see someone on the other side of the door, fumbling with a slipping bag of baked goods while trying to hang onto two large coffees-to-go.

"Need some help?" I ask as I get the door.

I freeze in place when I look up and see who's on the other side.

I only saw him in profile when he darted by yesterday, but now we're face to face.

It's the boy on the bike. It's Edward Cullen. But it's not Edward Cullen.

He's in his late teens and he's tall…at least six feet tall…and lanky. He has the same wild, streaky-colored, lion's mane head of hair. It's just as thick, but slightly less wavy. His eyebrows are just as dark but not as thick, and his eyes are more blue than green. His nose is straighter, and his mouth looks so familiar, but the cheek bones and the jaw line are dead-ringers.

The differences are obvious but the similarities are so striking.

"Thanks, I think I got it now," he says, giving me a friendly, slightly crooked smile. It's the same crooked smile.

"You…" I gasp.

It's all I can do to exhale that single syllable but it's enough to make him pause, and as I watch, his expression slowly changes. His mouth drops open slightly and something that looks like vague recognition passes briefly through his eyes as he looks back at me.

He blinks. And then he smiles crookedly once more. "Uh, thanks again," he finally says with a nod, passing through the open door with his bag of goodies and his two coffees to go.

As I duck inside the coffee shop I turn and watch him through the window. He crosses the street at an angle, heading for a shiny, black Toyota Tacoma pick-up truck, parked several cars up on the opposite side of the street.

"I thought I saw you pass by the shop window." It's Angela. I didn't hear her come up behind me. "What are we watching?" she asks, looking over my shoulder.

"Look at that boy crossing the street. Whose hair does his remind you of? Think back to high school," I add.

She's silent for a moment.

"Oh wow," she finally says. "And his walk, too. He looks like Edward, from the back."

As he climbs into the driver's seat I nod. _He looks a lot like him from the front_, _too_, I think to myself, though I don't say it.

"Well, he's not from around here," Angela says as the truck starts up and pulls away from the curb.

I turn and look at her for clarification.

"Out-of-state license plates," she says. "Those weren't Washington plates."

* * *

**A/N: A few things should be clearer, maybe? Let me know. I love your theories.**


	7. Books in the Nook

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Thank you again for your reviews. It's so nice to know who is out there and hear what you think!

* * *

**Chapter 7: Books in the Nook**

I'm hardly aware of the bustle of customers coming and going around Angela and me as we stand at the big front window of The Cup and Saucer. I've turned back to the window just in time to see the shiny, black Toyota Tacoma pick-up truck turn right onto Highway 101, heading north, in the direction of Port Angeles, or maybe even Seattle beyond that.

"Did you see him when he was in here?" I ask as we watch the truck recede into the distance.

"No," Angela answers. "I was in the next room. But I saw you walk by the window, so I came looking for you. I didn't see him until you pointed him out. Why?"

The truck is long gone and I finally turn to look at her but I don't exactly answer her question. Instead I say, "There must have been someone else in that truck."

Angela blinks and shrugs. "I didn't notice, but the glass was tinted anyway—it would have been hard to tell from this distance."

I nod. And then I say, "He bought two coffees."

Angela's eyes narrow slightly at my comment but then her eyes soften. "I'll go get us our own coffees and a couple of scones. Why don't you head into the book nook and check it out? I'll meet you there and you can tell me what I'm missing about that boy and his two coffees."

"Okay. Sounds like a good plan to me," I tell her.

She threads her way to the counter, past tables and chairs, and customers, and I head for the new doorway in the side wall. I look over once more to see Angela ducking and weaving her way between her morning shift employees. She has a kind word and a smile for her customers, whether she knows them or not.

A sawhorse bars entry into The Cup and Saucer's newly acquired space next door. On it hangs a sign: _Book Nook coming soon!_ I skirt past the roadblock and survey the newly renovated room. The walls are a deep golden hue. Cozy loveseats and overstuffed chairs, all dark greens and coffee brown, are grouped with small tables, providing comfortable places to sit and read. A few larger tables with matching chairs offer quiet workspaces for customers with laptops or study materials. Beneath the front window sits a low table with four little matching chairs for the youngest of The Cup's customers. A large, empty bookcase stands against the opposite wall and on the floor next to it are a number of big cardboard boxes.

I choose a loveseat just as Amanda Yorkie, Eric's oldest, edges through the doorway carrying two plates—undoubtedly a blueberry scone for me and a lemon scone for Angela. We greet each other and I thank her but she hesitates after setting the plates down.

"Um…I'm really sorry about your dad, Bella… I'm sorry for your loss."

It's one of those moments. I feel a sudden pang of grief forgotten as I remember that my dad is gone. I fight back the sudden sting of emotion in my nose and the heat of tears in my eyes and I manage to thank her. And then I remember something.

"Amanda, will you tell your dad something for me?"

"Sure." She looks at me expectantly.

"Tell him the article he wrote about Charlie for the Forks Forum and the Peninsula Daily News was perfect. Nothing flowery, just the facts—flowery would have made Charlie embarrassed and uncomfortable. So thank your dad for me, will you?"

She smiles at that. "Yeah, I'll tell him." She glances toward the doorway and looks back at me hesitantly. "I should probably…you know…get back to work."

"Yeah, go ahead." I smile.

She gives me a nod and another smile. "Take care, Bella."

As she leaves I hear the throaty laugh of Jennifer Stanley—Jessica's mother—floating in from the shop next door. It strikes me that Angela probably sent me in here so I could avoid seeing too many familiar faces. She knows how much I hate crying in front of others, and it's so hard to hear condolences and questions and not fall apart. The funeral tomorrow will be hard enough as it is. Plus I still have my own mother to look forward to seeing later today. Angela knows I'm here for a distraction and a bit of normalcy.

A moment later she comes through the doorway, holding our large lattes. Her bright eyes meet mine and then roam the room. "So, Swan, whaddaya think?"

"Angela, it's so cozy! What a great place to read or study or work! Where on earth was this place when we were in high school and college?"

She laughs as she hands me my coffee and takes a seat next to me. "This place was right here, but I'm not so sure Mr. Dawson would have liked us hanging out all day at his shoe repair shop."

"No, I don't guess so. Old Tim Dawson was pretty cranky."

Angela grins. "You'd be cranky too if you had to work amidst the smell of old shoes and feet all day."

I giggle at that and take a sip of my coffee, smacking my lips at the taste. "Oh, man, this is good! Thank you." Angela nods as she sips at her coffee and I finally break a piece off my scone and pop it into my mouth and sigh with pleasure.

"So you really like it?" Angela asks as she begins attacking her own scone. "The book nook, I mean?"

"I do. It's warm and inviting." I pat the loveseat beneath us. "I feel like I'm sitting by the fire in grandma's parlor, minus the fire. And minus grandma. But it's cozy like that. And I like that you even made a children's corner for the little hot chocolate crowd."

Angela smiles. "Sometimes moms want to sit for a few and have a quiet cup. I figured if I gave them a spot to plant their little ones with some books, it would buy them some time with their coffee or tea. We'll see how that goes."

I smile at her because she really is considerate of everyone.

"Okay, enough about me and this place," she says abruptly. "I want to hear about _him_, now…the boy with the coffees. What's the story?"

I take a deep breath and then I let go. "He looks so much like Edward it's scary. I almost ran him over in Charlie's truck yesterday."

Angela's eyes widen and her coffee cup stops mid-way to her mouth. "You tried to run that boy over because he looks like Edward?"

"No! Oh, my god! No!" I burst into laughter, realizing now how it sounded. "Holy crap, Angela, I might be depressed, but I'm not psychotic!" I proceed to tell her everything, from yesterday's panic-attack-inducing profile on a bike in an intersection, to today's face-to-face in The Cup's doorway. I explain similarities and differences in facial structure and features as I compare that boy's face to one I haven't seen in two decades.

And Angela points that out. Because she has to. But she's gentle.

"Bella…it's been twenty years since you saw Edward…" She doesn't elaborate on that sentence because she knows I know what she's saying. There's no need to spell out the obvious. Instead she moves on. "And I know you know there are doppelgängers out there in the world...

"Remember calculus class, senior year? Every time Mr. Poole called on David Shelby he called him 'Mike' first, then 'Frank,' and finally 'Dave' because David looked like students he'd had in the past? Do you remember that?" She snickers. "You used to do the best impersonation of Mr. Poole."

We're both smiling at the memory and I succumb and let loose with my best Mr. Johnny Ray Poole twang. "It's calculus ti-ime, ladies and gentlemin! Git yer mi-inds out of neutral and into hi-igh gear! Who's got the answer to number fi-ive? How bout you, Mi-ike?…Frank?…Dave?"

Angela folds in half, shaking and giggling and I'm laughing at her laughing.

"You've still got it!" she says when she finally sits up, wiping her eyes.

We both sigh. And we smile. And Angela finally says, "Anyway…you know what I'm saying. You probably just saw Alternate-Universe Teen-Edward. And we'll just imagine he was taking that extra coffee to his Alternate-Universe Teen-Bella."

"Yeah." I nod and I smile because she's probably right, it was just a strange coincidence that boy breezed through Forks, looking like Edward Cullen. But I kind of like the whole Alternate Universe spin she put on it.

It's time to move on, so I change the subject. "So…those boxes…" I look over at them, stacked near the bookshelves. "Books, I take it?"

"You can't have a book nook and bookshelves without books. That's where you come in, Swan. We're going to organize and shelve. It'll be just like helping Mrs. Bromley in the Forks High Library. Sound do-able?"

"Of course. I know this latte doesn't come cheap," I tell her.

We polish off our scones and coffee and then we move over to the boxes and start unpacking.

Angela explains the arrangement plans and posts some small signs as we go. Children's books on the bottom shelves, because those customers are short and are willing to sit on the floor. Miscellaneous non-fiction on the next shelves up. Fiction above that, including some of the classics we swooned over as teens. We work our way up, chatting as we go. Some books are fairly new, other books are more worn. It's a mix of personal cast-offs, donations, thrift shop finds, and even a few new books.

"The books in this box go on the top shelf," Angela explains as she slides the last box over.

"What types of books are these?" I ask as we open the box.

She shrugs. "I thought I'd dedicate a shelf to the Pacific Northwest, so there's a little of everything: art, photography, biographies, history, native legends, travel…and even some fiction by writers from the area."

I freeze. She's not making eye contact with me and that's not a good thing.

"Angela…"

"Hmm…?"

"Angela…"

"Yes?"

"Angela...look at me."

"What?" she says, finally looking up and looking all innocent, which means she isn't—reverend's daughter and pastor's wife though she may be.

I drag the box closer and start rifling through the books. And I see them. Near the bottom. Not all of them, but three of them. I dig them out and hold them up. Three paperbacks…all with similar glossy covers…all young adult romance novels…all written by I. M. Byrd.

"These! These are _what_!" I say in a frantic whisper as I even more frantically look inside the front cover of the first one.

"What's wrong with having a few teen romance novels, set in the Pacific Northwest? There's no reason to be embarrassed about them. And they're not my autographed copies, if that's what you're checking for."

"Angela!" I whisper-shriek. "You can't put these out here! Even if they're _not_ your autographed copies!"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Bella, no one knows who the real I. M. Byrd is and no one _will know_. I'll take it to my grave unless I'm told otherwise. I'm just…proud of you, you know?" Her smile is so sincere. "They're such sweet romance stories and I just thought...if a few of the books were here, people might decide to go buy them...or maybe track down some of the others. It might boost sales."

"Angela…I just… I don't… What if someone reads and…notices _things_? And connects the dots to me?"

"How? Each story is different with a different pair of main characters. And the occasional personal anecdote from twenty years ago has been changed up and buried well enough that no young adult reader is going to spot any dots, let alone connect those spotted dots to you. How would they?"

"Fine." I sigh. "You're right."

"Are you sure? I won't put them out if you're dead set against it."

"I'm sure. It's fine." I nod and give her what I think is a courageous smile. "Who knows? Maybe putting them out here will help boost sales, like you said. Why wouldn't I want to supplement my income with book sales?"

Angela grins happily at me. "Come on, then! Let's get them shelved with the rest of these books! Then we'll get a refill on our coffees and play a few rounds of _Renee versus Bella,_ to help you figure out how you're going to address all the prying questions you just know your mom is going to ask when she gets here this afternoon."

* * *

**A/N: So...there you go. An answer or two? A question or three? A review or ...well, just one of those, perhaps?**


	8. Twenty Questions in Class

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Such awesome reviews! Pats on the back keep me fired up, but your comments and questions help me tell the story better.

* * *

**C-8: Twenty Questions in Class **

It's after eleven a.m. when I arrive home from The Cup and Saucer. Angela has armed me with a few baked goods for the next morning, and what we think are the best possible answers to my mother's probable questions. We also ran through tomorrow's funeral arrangements, making sure I'm fully prepared for the difficult day ahead. Because of her connection to the Community Church in Forks, through both Ben and her own father, Angela has had practice with funerals over the years and she's an amazing hand-holder.

Mr. Darcy starts barking at me the minute I get in the door, letting me know that it's a nice day outside and he's ready for a walk. I leash him up and we leave the house, stopping by next door to return Mrs. Cope's bowl from the previous evening's soup.

Shelly assures me I can count on her and her husband, George, in any way I might need to tomorrow and she's glad to hear Renee and Phil will be here for at least the next two days. It's important to have family around at a time like this, she says, and I agree, although I am struck hard when I think about how little family I have anymore. No more grandparents, no siblings, and I'm down to just one parent and a step-parent who live three thousand miles away.

Fitz and I walk down to the end of the street and veer off onto the hiking trail that leads behind our neighborhood. It's still early spring, but the woods are already lush and green with ferns and the leaves coming back in on the trees. The scents of damp earth and clean pine hang heavy in the air. I let Fitz off his leash and he ventures beyond the trail, sniffing and marking random spots that must be important to him.

We're back at the house by noon and I straighten up a little before hopping in the shower.

As I dry and straighten my hair afterwards, I look at my reflection and I know my mom will say I look pale. We look alike in some ways—the shape of our bodies and faces—but I didn't get her blue eyes, light brown hair, or prone-to-tan skin. I have my father's coloring, so pale is a given. But I do have the advantage of make-up, which Charlie didn't have and which just might deflect Renee's comments.

Mom will also say I look thin but I've always been on the skinny side. I have both of my parents' skinny genes to thank for being able to fit into my skinny jeans. But skinny jeans will only draw attention to the fact that I've lost a little weight, which won't be good, at least in my mother's eyes. So I pull on my black boot-cut jeans, a green V-neck sweater, and a pair of flat, black shoes.

I'm ready and it's just after one o'clock. Renee and Phil will be landing in Port Angeles soon and once they pick up their rental and drive to Forks they should be here by two thirty. I have at least an hour to sit and twiddle my thumbs.

I look at Fitz. He looks at me. He has no suggestions. He has no thumbs to twiddle either.

"Shall we sit and read?" I ask him.

He cocks his head. He can't decide. But his eyes tell me he's up for anything and he wants me to decide. So I make the decision and grab my green notebook.

"Come on, Fitzy, let's go out to the back porch and read until they get here."

He follows me downstairs and out to the covered porch. I take a seat in the porch swing but he goes to lie down in a sunny patch of warm dirt in the backyard.

"Suit yourself," I tell him. "Just don't expect me to join you in the dirt. I'm going back to my second day of Advanced Biology with Edward Cullen." I remember myself and quickly look over to the Copes' backyard, but it's empty and I'm good. No one knows just how pathetic I really am. It's still a fairly well-kept secret.

***I***

…_Edward and I just sat and talked after we finished our lab today. He now knows everything he needs to know about Phoenix. And about me. He asked so many questions! I'm sure he was going out of his way to be polite after the way he'd snubbed me in class yesterday. (Even though he had every right.)_

***I***

"So, you're Chief Swan's daughter, huh?" Edward's arms are crossed and he's hunched over his pile of books on our lab table.

"That's right." I can feel him looking at me but I keep doodling in the margin of my notebook because it's not all that easy to just look at him. I get tongue-tied and blurt stupid things.

"And I heard you moved here from Phoenix?"

"Yes. Was there an article in the school newspaper about me before I got here or something?"

I hear his soft exhale—he sounds amused again but I can't look up. I know if I look up, my look will most likely turn into a stare and then my stare will probably turn into an ogle and then I might even drool and miss whatever else he says next. I'm better off doodling to avoid drooling.

"Nope, no newspaper article," he says. "Word just gets around—you're kind of a novelty, you know, showing up in the middle of the school year. Plus being Chief Swan's daughter—that's kind of newsworthy."

"Well, I'm in third period Beginning Journalism with Mr. Berty. Maybe I could suggest that I interview myself for the next edition of the Spartan Forum." I turn my head and glance at him because I hope that didn't sound rude just then, and it really would be rude not to make eye contact…with his amused and amazing green eyes…geez… Better keep doodling.

"Journalism, huh? You like writing?"

"Yes. But don't count on that interview. It wouldn't be much longer than my by-line and probably only slightly more interesting."

I hear him snort a half-a-chuckle. "An article in the Spartan Forum would probably satisfy a lot of people's curiosity." He pauses, then he asks, "So what's Phoenix like?"

"It's big…hot…dry…everything is brown." He's smirking at my answer when I look over at him again and I blush because the smirk…with the eyes…holy crap…it just kills.

"So, Phoenix is basically the Anti-Forks?" he asks, still smirking away as I get back to my doodling with a vengeance.

"No, you have it backwards. Forks is the Anti-Phoenix."

He laughs and sits back, stretching his long legs out beneath our lab table. "Why'd you move to Forks if you don't really like it here? …because it sounds like you don't."

I look over my shoulder at him. "You know, Edward, if you're going to play 'Twenty Questions,' maybe _you_ should take notes and write the interview for the Spartan Forum."

"I'm taking notes up here." He grins and taps his temple. "And I took Journalism my sophomore year, so I could write a guest interview."

I roll my eyes and take a deep breath. And wow…he smells really good.

"I'm just joking. But back to my question…Why'd you move?" he prods, sitting forward again, his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his splayed legs. "It can't be that complicated."

I shake my head. "It's not. I'm sure you can keep up. I was born here. My parents divorced when I was little. My mom and I moved around for a while before ending up in Phoenix. She met a guy and married him and now they're moving to Florida. He has to travel a lot anyway, so I moved here to live with my dad so my mom can travel with her new husband. And that's my not-very-newsworthy story."

He nods his head slowly. He must be processing all that and thinking up more questions because he seems more subdued suddenly. He clears his throat to speak and when he does speak, his voice is softer and less offhand and the look of amusement is gone from his eyes. He doesn't ask a question either. He just makes an observation.

"That must be hard. After living with your mom all that time, to just suddenly leave and move here to live with your dad."

I shrug as I look back at him. "It's okay. It's not like my dad is a complete stranger—I used to come to Forks for visits in the summers when I was younger. I miss my mom but this way I can spend time with my dad and my mom can travel with her new husband."

"Do you like him—the new husband?"

"Yeah, he's really nice but he's a lot younger than she is."

Edward nods. "What does he do, that he travels so much?"

"He plays minor league baseball. He's a pitcher for the Jacksonville Suns."

Edward looks surprised but he doesn't get the chance to ask any more questions. Mr. Banner is calling the class back to order to wrap up the lab before the period ends.

***I***

_At the end of the period Mr. Banner gave Edward and me the Golden Onion Award since we finished the lab first and got all the answers correct. It was a real onion! Spray painted gold! Edward offered it to me but I told him the award…stunk. He laughed but he probably thinks I'm an idiot for the things I say. Seriously, though, who wants their locker to smell like an onion? I wasn't taking that thing with me to sixth period Spanish, either, so he kept it. He said it might well be the only trophy he'd win this year._

_That's when class ended and Edward just sort of…left. He seemed all mopey again. I'm beginning to think he has issues with mood swings. _

_One thing is for certain: Tomorrow it's __MY__ turn to ask questions! _

***I***

_Wednesday, February 6, 1991_

_In Biology today we had to complete a worksheet while we watched a video. The worksheet was easy and Edward looked as bored as I felt, so after a few minutes I opened my notebook, wrote him a note, slid it over to him, and he replied! We passed that notebook back and forth all period long while we watched the video and did our work and I got TONS of questions answered today! _

_I kept the page so I could remember what he wrote and then I just decided to tape it in here._

_So here it is:_

* * *

_This video is kind of boring._

_**Kind of? Zzzzzz…..**_

_Can I ask you questions today since you asked me so many yesterday?_

_**Is this '20 questions' or an interview for the Spartan Forum? **_

_Possibly both. _

_**Fire away. You already asked 1. 19 to go.**_

_2\. Have you always lived in Forks?_

_**I was born in Chicago and moved to Rochester (New York), Juneau (Alaska), and then Forks. **_

_3\. Alaska?! Why Alaska?! _

_**That's 2 questions. 3.) Yes, Alaska. 4.) Why **__**not**__** Alaska? People live there. And my dad thought it would be an adventure. **_

_5\. What does your dad do? _

_**He's a general surgeon at the Forks Medical Center.**_

_6\. And your mom?_

_**She's a wife and mother and does both jobs quite well.**_

_7\. Do you get along with your parents? _

_**Yes. Mostly.**_

_8\. Do you have brothers or sisters?_

_**Nope. I'm it. **_

_9\. Have you ever lived anywhere else? Like Seattle?_

_**2 questions again? 9.) No. 10.) Never. (That was an off-the-wall question. Why would you ask that?)**_

_Just wondered. And keep in mind __I'm__ asking the questions today. You had your turn yesterday. So…back to me…_

_11\. Yesterday you said you did the same lab last year. Why are you in Bio again?_

_**I missed the last five weeks of school last year. I'm making up the labs I missed but I had to re-enroll for the whole semester. **_

_12\. Why did you miss so much school?_

_**I was out sick with Mono. It wouldn't go away and I had some complications from it.**_

_13\. Are you okay now?_

_**Yes. I'm fine, thanks.**_

_14\. Did you finish your other classes?_

_**Yes. I did what I could while I was sick and I came in during the summer to make up tests and finals in Principal Greene's office. **_

_15\. What a terrible summer! So, you're all caught up, except for this class?_

_**I actually already have a C+ in this class but I took an 'Incomplete' so I can do the labs and get an A.**_

_16\. Why do you have to get an A?_

_**You obviously don't know my dad. **_

_17\. He wants you to have an A in the class?_

_**He wants me to have an A in **__**every**__** class. And graduate at the top of my class.**_

_18\. But you don't really want to be in this class?_

_**It screwed up my plans to play baseball. I would have been the starting pitcher again this year if I didn't have to drop 6**__**th**__** period Athletics to move British Lit. from 5**__**th**__** to 6**__**th**__** period so I could fit Bio in. And Mr. Banner won't allow me to attend Bio just on lab days.**_

_19\. Can't you just go to practice after 6__th__ period is over?_

_**I'd be missing out on five hours of practice each week. Coach Clapp won't play me if I miss that much practice. It's not fair to the rest of the team. **_

_**Final question? **_

_**Make it a good one!**_

_**Where's my last question? **_

_**What's the hold-up?**_

_20\. What if you put in an equal amount of time on your own with some advice from a minor league pitcher?_

_**Your mom's husband?! He lives in **__**Florida**__**! I appreciate the thought, but I don't see how that would work. And even if it did, it would still be Coach Clapp's call and he's a hard ass.**_

* * *

_So, that was our 20 Questions note. The video ended a few minutes later and we turned in our Bio worksheets right before the bell rang. At least Edward said goodbye before he left, so he must not have been as unhappy as yesterday. I feel bad for him. There must be something he can do to still play with the team. _

_It's too late to call tonight, but tomorrow I'm going to call Mom and talk to Phil and see if he has any suggestions for Edward. _

_You never know!_

***I***

Sitting on the porch swing, I close my notebook and lay it on the cushion next to me. I look out into the backyard. But I'm not really seeing the yard. Nor am I really seeing Fitz, lying in his patch of dirt in the sunshine. Instead I'm seeing Spartan Field…over two decades ago.

It's mid-May, 1991. I'm seventeen years old and I'm in the bleachers at Spartan Field with my friends, Angela, Ben, Alice and Rosalie. Angela and Ben have just started dating and Alice and Rosalie are watching their first-baseman and catcher boyfriends out on the ball field. I'm wearing a practice jersey that's far too big for me, as I watch my friend and lab partner out on the pitcher's mound. My fingers are crossed and I'm chewing my lip nervously as I hold my breath and wait for the pitch…because this could be it…it's the ninth inning, two outs, with two strikes on the batter.

Edward is all self-assured athleticism, graceful windup, and fluid, precise delivery. The ball hits Emmett's catcher's mitt with a solid _whump_ as the umpire calls _Stee-riike threeee _and Spartan Field erupts into mayhem. I'm on my feet, jumping up and down and cheering my head off with everyone else, as the team rushes the pitcher's mound, hollering and flinging their caps and gloves into the air. They swarm and hug and high-five a triumphantly grinning Edward. He looks up, turning his head toward the stands as he's bumped and jostled this way and that. His eyes find mine and the brilliant smile he gives me makes my stomach flip. I have the worst crush on him. He's just so beautiful: dirty, sweaty and completely exultant.

The Spartans just clinched their first league championship in five years, playing against their rivals, the Montesano Bulldogs.

And Edward Cullen played all season long.

I make two stops on my way home from the game: the housewares aisle of the Thriftway grocery story and the paint section of Hanson's Hardware. Once I arrive home, I pull on Charlie's tattered, paint-spattered work-shirt and spread some old newspapers out on the floor of the garage. A few minutes later I'm giggling at my work of art. I bought a plastic water pitcher and metallic gold spray paint and I made Edward Cullen a Golden Pitcher Award. It looks ridiculous and I can't wait to give it to him in Bio on Monday—he'll think it's outstanding and hilarious.

But it turns out I don't have to wait until Monday.

Edward phones the house a half hour later. The whole team is going to the diner tonight to celebrate and he wants to know if I want to come. I tell him that sounds great and I ask what time I should meet him. He hesitates. Then he says he didn't mean for me to meet him—he was planning on picking me up and taking me with him.

I'm stunned because it almost sounds like a date but I try not to jump to conclusions.

Then I'm even more stunned several hours later when Edward brings me home.

And thanks me for coming with him to celebrate the team's win.

And thanks me for the Golden Pitcher Award I made for him.

And kisses me goodnight for the very first time.

* * *

**A/N: Probably not what you were expecting, but I hope you found some things to like. I'd love to hear from you.**


	9. Mom in the House

**Indelible**

**A/N: **If you review, I will reply! :)

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Mom in the House**

Fitz lifts his head with a soft _woof_, pulling me back to the present and leaving my first kiss with Edward on the front doorstep of my past.

I can tell Fitz hears something when he utters another low _woof_. A second later, even I can hear the sound of car doors shutting out front just before Fitz makes a mad dash to the side yard, barking his head off. The old chain link fence around the backyard allows him a partial view of the street and he's yelling at our intruders, telling them they'd better have parked where he can actually see them and not just listen to them.

"They're here, Fitz!" I tell him, though I'm sure he can't hear me over the noise…that he's making.

I'm the lucky one of the two of us. I've got the larger brain and the opposable thumbs so I can actually open the back porch door and reenter the house. I leave it open because Fitz will realize I had the better plan and he'll come running inside shortly to help me deal with our attackers when they get to the front door.

It's been over a year since I've seen my mom and Phil. I couldn't leave Charlie for a trip to Florida last summer after he'd had his stroke. Nor did he feel up to having visitors at Thanksgiving or Christmas. I suspect he was still too proud to have my mom see him "running at three-quarters speed" as he called it, though he had already improved quite a bit by that time.

I hurry through the house and open the front door and screen, stepping out onto the porch. Mom and Phil are already halfway up the driveway. In dark jeans, a vibrant turquoise blouse and white cardigan, and with her salon-blond streaked hair, my trim, pretty mother looks like a Floridian. You'd never guess she's fifty-eight years old. Phil, seven years younger, is graying at the temples, but he still has a full head of hair and looks fit and sporty in jeans, white polo shirt and sport shoes. I call out a hello and they both look up and smile and Phil replies with a gentle, "Hey, Bella-girl."

And just that quickly, it all hits home why they've come.

Mom's smile slips, her face crumpling into an expression of sorrow as I hurry down the steps to greet them. Her pace quickens as she starts shaking her head and her eyes begin brimming. At the first, "Oh, baby… I'm so sorry," I'm in her embrace and neither of us can control our tears. She keeps murmuring she's so sorry and all I can do is nod my head against hers and hang on tight. Phil stands awkwardly by, giving us a moment together before he moves in and gathers us both into a solid hug, murmuring condolences.

I collect myself and wipe at my eyes as he finally starts herding us up the steps to the house. Fitz has been barking like a mad dog the whole time, watching from the other side of the screen door but unable to assist. His continued commotion is a welcome distraction from the overwhelming moment. I shush him as we enter the house and his barking slows when he sees I'm fine and he recalls Mom and Phil's scents and voices. He finally stops barking completely and wags in embarrassment at his behavior when they greet and pet him.

"It's really good to see you both," I tell them.

"It's good to see you, too, Bella," Phil says. "We're sorry it's not under happier circumstances."

My mom can only nod in agreement as her eyes well up and her lips tremble as she looks at me and that makes me teary and we're hugging again. Phil looks around and darts past us, heading for the box of tissues next to the couch in the living room. Bringing back a handful, he divides them up and we dab at our eyes and blow our noses. He ushers us over to sit down on the couch, placing the tissue box within reach.

"How about I get you girls something to drink?" he offers, looking for something to do while mom and I get the crying out of the way.

"Sure, Phil. Anything's fine," Mom says, nodding up at him and answering for the both of us as she reaches for my hand, clasping it in hers.

"Oh…I was going to make coffee," I say, remembering that I'm the actual hostess here. "Do you want coffee?" They've been up since some ungodly hour and they've just traveled three thousand miles to get here. Surely they want coffee.

"Coffee sounds good but you sit tight—I'll make it," Phil assures me, heading off to the kitchen. "Just tell me where everything is."

I do so and thank him as he begins puttering about in the kitchen.

Mom's blue eyes are filled with sympathy and sadness when I look back at her. "Oh, sweetie, I'm so sorry. It's still so hard to believe." She wraps an arm around me. "This was too soon. Sixty one is still young."

"I know." I nod. "He was doing so well too, improving after the stroke, and then suddenly..." I grab another tissue.

"The heart attack was such a shock," she continues for me as I nod and dab at my eyes. She pulls me into a hug. "I'm so sorry you were here alone with him when it happened."

"But I'm glad I _was_ here, you know…that _he_ wasn't alone. And Mrs. Cope came over when she heard the paramedics."

Mom sits back, pushing my hair away from my face as I blow my nose. "She's always been such a good neighbor to you both. I'm glad you have her and Angela here for you. I just…I can't help thinking I should have come sooner to be here and help you. I really wanted to, Bella."

I shake my head. After living with both of my parents separately, I know I'm more my father's daughter: quiet and introspective just like him. If Renee had come immediately following his death it would have meant constant hovering, replaying and second-guessing everything, and trying to improve upon his final wishes with her own suggestions. I know she means well but we're different in our approach and I didn't want the stress, so I let her down gently.

"I know you wanted to come sooner but it really wasn't necessary and Phil couldn't have come with you so you would have had to fly by yourself. I haven't been alone. And Dad organized everything in a file so I'd know what to do in case…" I exhale a shaky sigh and she nods. I don't need to continue.

"You did so much to help him this past year, Bella," she says after a moment. "And even though he might have been disagreeable or irritable at times, I know he appreciated it so much. He knew you gave up a lot to be here for him, taking him to all his appointments, helping with his therapy, doing the housework and cooking. I'm sure he hated being dependent and feeling like a burden…"

"I was glad I could be here for him," I tell her simply, ending that bit of conversation on a positive note before she really gets rolling.

It's not like Charlie was completely helpless but I don't regret putting my life on hold to help him. Despite the frustrations of his convalescence and therapy to regain his diminished speech and motor skills, the last eleven months were some of the best times we shared.

Already a man of few words, Dad's short-circuited speech was slow and painstaking, sprinkled with wrong words, half-words and blanks. All my life, I'd never heard him swear. But at one point, stuck for a word and irritated, he suddenly banged his hand down on the table and spat out, "Freckle!" It sunk in that he'd probably meant, "Fuck it!" and I couldn't help but giggle. I called him out on his "swearing" and we wound up laughing until we had tears in our eyes and "freckle" became our go-to curse.

There were a lot of little moments like that—experiences that brought us even closer—and I get a sudden lump in my throat with that thought. Thankfully, Phil returns with coffee and as we fix our cups I get myself back under control.

"You been doing okay, Bella?" Phil asks gently. He's a good guy—a perceptive caretaker. Only a dozen years older than I am, he's more like an uncle than a step-parent—though I never actually had any uncles or aunts, so I'm really just guessing here.

"Yeah, I've been okay." I give him a smile and a little shrug. He nods and I can feel my mother eyeing me and I know she has questions. The game is about to begin and I hate the game but I'm forced to play.

"You look thinner, Baby, and pale. Have you been eating all right?" Score two points for me. I told Angela I'd keep score and I knew "thin" and "pale" were coming, so I'm prepared.

"I'm pale because this is Forks, not Florida, Mom. Besides, I've always been pale—I didn't get your coloring. And I've been eating enough. Remember I told you I started taking yoga? I've toned up, so maybe that's why you think I look thin."

"Oh, that's right!" she nods and smiles brightly, looking satisfied with that answer. "With your friend…Sandra? The one who teaches exercise classes and married that newspaper boy, right?"

"Samantha," I correct, but I'm impressed she remembered so much. "Yeah, Eric Yorkie's wife."

Samantha Larkin, whose negligible nose job was pointed out to me by Jessica Stanley on my first day of school, attended the University of Washington like Eric Yorkie and I. She majored in Kinesiology and Sports Medicine while Eric and I majored in Journalism. They'd already begun dating during senior year of high school and halfway through college they married. A year later Samantha was pregnant with the first of their three girls.

"And Eric still works for the paper here in Forks?" Mom asks.

"Yeah. He's Editor-in-Chief at the Forks Forum now," I tell her. She nods. And I can see the gears turning and I know it's on the tip of her tongue. I can feel it coming. Angela is going to score a point any minute now.

"What are _you_ going to do about work, Bella?" Bingo. There it is. "Are you going to try to get your job back?" I guess that sort of makes two points for Angela, so we're tied now, two-to-two.

I sigh. "I don't know, Mom. I was getting kind of burned out there. I really haven't thought about it yet but I'm really not sure about moving back to Port Angeles."

When Charlie had his stroke my job went to the back burner. I took a leave, extended it, and eventually quit. I really haven't missed Port Angeles, The Peninsula Daily News, or the Hearth and Home column I'd been stuck with for so long. You can write enthusiastically about handy-dandy housekeeping and cooking tips for only so long. Not to mention working for Editor-in-Chief Aro Grecco was a pain in the ass if you didn't kiss his ass. Which I didn't.

"I thought you had friends in Port Angeles. What about them? Don't you miss them?"

I shrug. "I still keep in touch with Maggie and Siobhan and we meet up for dinner about once a month. They're the friends I was closest to but I have friends here."

"So you're thinking about just staying here in Forks? Mom presses, saying Forks with distaste and earning me another point against Angela.

Phil looks at me in his avuncular way, patting Mom's knee and murmuring her name. It's the signal to rein herself in before she goes overboard and I get snappy.

She turns to face him. "What?" she asks innocently. "She could sell the house and move down by us in Jacksonville."

"I'm not moving to Florida, Mom. I like visiting you there but I'm fine here." I give myself another point even though she didn't directly ask if I would move to Florida. An implied question is good enough for the scorecard, now four-to-two in my favor. Angela is starting to fall behind here.

"But it's so nice and sunny and warm in Florida and Forks is just so dreary and wet and cold!"

There was a time when I felt the same way. Now there's just something that appeals to me here, like it must have appealed to my dad. The endless green is rugged yet peaceful, sturdy and dependable. What I once saw as gloom now feels more like a thick familiar blanket. I can always bundle up against wet and cold or happily stay indoors, make a fire, and read or write. I know Charlie left everything to me, so maybe I also feel a bit of responsibility to him and this old house. I started life here. Maybe I've finally really taken root.

I shrug at my mom. "Well…I kind of like it here for now."

"But what will you _do_ here?" Mom asks, scoring a point for Angela. "You have no job, no steady income, no family, no one to take care of you…"

"Renee…" Phil murmurs, patting her knee once again and giving me an apologetic look, but I can deal with this.

"I'm thirty nine years old, Mom. I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for years. I have money saved and my books are earning some profits. I can always work at Angela's coffee shop if I get desperate—which I won't. And I have friends and Fitz here to take care of me."

Fits lifts his head and eyes me at the mention of his name. He's been lying at my feet but now he's ready to do my bidding. I contemplate pointing at my mother and yelling, 'Sic 'em, Fitz!'

"He's such a good boy," Mom croons as she reaches down and ruffles Fitz' flappy ears. He looks at her adoringly. Traitor.

Mom looks up, smiling brightly. "Whatever happened with that young man in Port Angeles…Steven, was it? Are you still seeing him?" Score another for Angela and now we're tied up at four apiece.

"Stefan," I tell her. "No. That kind of fizzled out."

"Oh, Bella, I'm sorry." Mom frowns but I wave it off dismissively.

"He was nice enough but there really wasn't a whole lot of chemistry there." Stefan turned out to be a finicky mama's boy.

She nods in understanding and sighs. I know exactly where she's going next.

"Have you heard from…Jake?" It's the big-money question and Angela's point—only because it was the first thing out of her mouth, but we both knew it was a given.

"Yeah, Jake sent a card. He actually wrote a very nice note and he made a donation to the American Stroke Foundation in dad's name."

"Oh, that was nice of him," she observes. And then she pauses and asks what I've been waiting for. "Will he be coming for the funeral?" That's my point and the game ends in a five-five tie, so neither Angela nor I have to treat the other to dinner.

I shake my head. "No, he's not, Mom. They just had a baby, plus she has her other two kids. I'm sure she needs his help. Besides, it's like a twelve-hour drive between here and Bozeman, Montana."

Mom nods but doesn't say anything. She can't. She held out hope Jake and I would get back together somehow but the apple didn't fall far from the tree. I used to hope the same for her and Charlie for years. I guess history repeated itself. Like my parents, Jake and I must have seen something in each other that we hoped was there, only to discover over time that it really wasn't. At least we didn't rip apart a family so I'll always be glad for that.

"I wish you'd meet someone, Bella…but living here in Forks…"

"I know." I shrug. She's right about this. The dating pool is quite shallow here but she'd better not bring up some on-line dating website idea. I'm not going to give that idea a whirl.

Mom sighs audibly.

"What? What's wrong?" I ask.

"I just think of you here now, Bella…alone in this shabby old house…in the gloom…with just a dog for company…writing teen romance novels and living like a recluse…"

I bite my tongue and roll my eyes, letting them land on Phil.

"You girls getting hungry?" he asks quite cooperatively as he pats the hell out of Mom's knee. I do love his powers of perception.

I glance at the clock above the TV. It's only three-thirty but I suddenly remember there's a three hour time-difference between the West and East Coasts. Which means it would be their dinner hour and they might not have had lunch either.

"Oh gosh! You must be starving!" I look at them for confirmation, anxious for a diversion so we can move on to some topic other than me living like a recluse in a shabby house in drabby Forks.

"I could eat," Phil says with a shrug and a sheepish grin.

"Phil can _always_ eat," Mom says, rolling her eyes and smiling. She turns to me. "Are you hungry, baby? We'll treat you to a late lunch."

I tell her I'd prefer to just stay put. It'll be more relaxing and I have a refrigerator filled with a variety of food from friends and neighbors. Phil is all over the idea of a grilled meatloaf and cheese sandwich—his second choice after Mom forbids him to have a cabbage roll unless he plans on getting a separate room at the bed and breakfast tonight with the digestive tract issues he's bound to have. It's a light moment and I laugh at the two of them.

Mom and I start organizing lunch while Phil steps out to the back porch to make a quick phone call. I'm getting things out of the refrigerator when his voice carries inside.

"Hey, Jenksy, old buddy! It's Philly D! How's life treating you?"

I have to smile. I recognize the name. "Jenksy" is indeed an old buddy—a former mentor of Phil's who lives up this way. Jason Jenks was a pitcher for the Seattle Mariners in his younger days but retired from the majors years ago, returning to his hometown of Aberdeen, Washington. He wound up coaching baseball there at Grays Harbor College and occasionally did a little private pitching coaching on the side. I know all this because I've met Jason Jenks. I also know the drive between Forks and Aberdeen takes about two hours, though Edward Cullen could always shave at least fifteen minutes off that trip.

Mom sets the table and pours drinks while I grill our sandwiches and think about trips to Aberdeen. Just as I'm finishing and sliding things onto plates, Phil returns. I manage to keep the conversation on them throughout lunch and afterward. I ask about their trip up, Mom's activities, the latest goings on with their friends, and Phil's job with the Suns and how the team is doing. Mom's eyes sparkle when she talks about how she still loves the excitement of the games and the team and the travel. Phil winks, saying he suspects she just loves the excitement of watching the young ballplayers themselves. Mom rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly on the arm.

In the late afternoon, Mom and I sit outside on the back porch swing, watching Phil toss an old tennis ball for Fitz to fetch. We talk about the arrangements and plans for the next day and by six o'clock, which is nine o'clock for them, Mom is stifling yawns and I know they're exhausted. They've had a long day. I walk them out to their rental car, hug them goodbye for now, and wave as they head off to their bed and breakfast for the night.

I spend the evening rehashing the day's conversations. I don't think I'm turning into a reclusive writer. I have friends. I do things. I get out of the house.

Later that evening I'm curled up in bed once again, escaping reality as I read about the reality of my seventeen-year-old self.

*I*

_Thursday, February 7, 1991_

_I think all the teachers got together and decided to make us take notes today. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to Alice during American Lit or Edward during Bio, but of course I got to talk to Angela, Jessica, and Eric during lunch. And I got to talk to Jessica in Spanish during Spanish class. Her pronunciation is awful!_

_I went to Alice's house after school to work on our poetry project. Mrs. Brandon is as tiny and sweet as Alice! Mr. Brandon was away on a business trip, but Alice showed me a photo. He's a foot taller than her mom! Their house is pretty. Alice's room is light blue with white furniture and a four-poster bed and she had pictures of her boyfriend, Jasper, everywhere._

_She told me Jasper plays first base on the Spartans' baseball team and she goes to his practices sometimes to watch him. She sits in the bleachers and does homework with her friend Rosalie, whose boyfriend, Emmett, is the catcher. She said a lot of the guys on the team hope Coach Clapp will still let Edward pitch in the games because Mike Newton is the back-up and he isn't nearly as good. She said maybe Mike would get hurt and Edward would have to play and that made me laugh because she said it so cheerfully. She's funny and so easy to talk to. _

_She asked how Edward and I were getting along in Bio and we wound up discussing him. She told me his parents are nice, his mom especially, but his dad is kind of strict when it comes to school. Alice said Edward is really smart. He's only seventeen, like us, but he was moved up a grade when he was younger. He has to do well in school because he wants to study medicine at the same Ivy League school his dad and grandfather attended. _

_I told her what Jessica suspected about Edward and Tanya. Alice said Jessica tried to spread that same stupid rumor all last year but it was a load of horse crap and Edward's dad would have disowned him if it were true. She told me Tanya broke up with Edward at the end of the summer before she even moved and it took him a while to get over her. Now she thinks he's just trying to stay focused on his goals and that's probably why he hasn't dated anyone in the past year and a half. _

_Last thing…I called Mom tonight and told her things were going well at home and at school and that I'd made some friends. She probably thought I was crazy when I asked to speak to Phil because I had a question about baseball. I knew if I explained to her she'd be asking, "Is this about a boy? What's his name? Is he cute? Do you like him?" I would never hear the end of it. _

_Phil was cool, although he laughed when I asked if you could practice pitching at a strike zone painted on a tree. He said it would probably be bad for the tree and there was the hazard of ricocheting baseballs. I hadn't thought about that. He asked what the deal was and I explained Edward's situation. I didn't call him Edward though, I just called him "a friend" and asked him not to go into detail with Mom. He said he'd think on it, see what he could come up with, and call me back in a day or two. _

_My fingers are crossed! _

*I*

I set my notebook on the nightstand and reach up to shut off the light. I lie in my bed in the dark, scratching Fitz as he lies by my side. I think about how life's challenges change over time. At seventeen I was wondering how I could help a boy get into a game of baseball. At thirty nine I'm wondering how I'm going to say a final goodbye to my father tomorrow morning.

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**A/N: Ugh, that was a hard ending. I promise we're getting to a turning point. And an Edward.**


	10. Fathers in Forks

**Indelible**

**A/N: **This chapter was difficult. I hope you like the final product.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Fathers in Forks**

I didn't sleep well and I awoke before dawn, unable to go back to what little restless sleep I'd had. I just couldn't shut down, my mind restlessly running through the day ahead, making sure all was in order to honor my father. Turning over for the umpteenth time, I spotted my escape from the hard reality of the day ahead, lying on the nightstand next to me. So I reached over, pulled the notebook toward me, turned on the lamp, and stuffed an extra pillow behind my head.

*I*

_Friday, February 8, 1991_

_Bio was so embarrassing today! During Mr. Banner's lecture I asked Edward if he was still going to practice every day after school. He nodded and whispered back, asking why I wanted to know. I said I just wondered. I turned my head back to listen to Mr. Banner but I could feel Edward looking at me. He asked a second time but I just shrugged. I didn't want to tell him I'd talked to Phil, just in case nothing came of it. But I hope he doesn't give up. Anyway, after a moment he asked again, only this time he poked me in the ribs at the same time and I shrieked. Right in the middle of class!_

_Mr. Banner stopped teaching and glared at me and the whole class got so quiet. Mr. Banner asked what the reason was for my outburst. I wanted to crawl under the table! But Edward spoke up. He said it was his fault and he apologized for disrupting class. He said he'd missed something from the lecture and was just trying to get my attention so he could look at my notes and must have inadvertently tickled me. Mr. Banner seemed somewhat satisfied with that answer but he said Edward should probably keep his hands off his lab partner in the future unless he wanted to serve a detention. Then he went back to his lecture. _

_I couldn't concentrate for the rest of the period! Thank goodness Edward can't read minds because I couldn't stop thinking about what Mr. Banner said. I kept imagining what it would be like if Edward __didn't__ care about serving detention and __wasn't__ able to keep his hands off his lab partner. (I'm really pathetic.)_

*I*

_Saturday, February 9, 1991_

_Not much to report on today. I helped Dad around the house and did some homework. We met Billy Black and his son, Jake, over at the diner for dinner and then Dad and I ended the evening watching a couple movies we rented at the video store on the way home. _

_I haven't heard back from Phil yet. But I'm wondering about the possibility of sending him a videotape of Edward pitching so he can see how he does and maybe give Edward some pointers over the phone or in a video back._

*I*

_Sunday, February 10, 1991_

_I can't wait to talk to Edward tomorrow! Phil called back today. He knows a guy who used to pitch for the Mariners. As a favor to Phil, Jason (Jay) Jenks is willing to work one-on-one with Edward—as long as Edward can get down to Aberdeen—where he coaches a college team. Dad even knew who Jay Jenks was—because I had to explain everything when I got off the phone. _

*I*

I hang up the phone in the kitchen. I'm grinning until I see the thoughtful frown on Dad's face. I'll admit Phil calling to talk to me was rather unusual in the first place, but then Dad heard my half of the conversation. Now he's standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. He glances down at the notepad on the counter in front of me, where I jotted some information.

"Jay Jenks? You takin' a sudden interest in Mariners baseball franchise history, Bells?"

"No. I just…um…I have this friend on the baseball team at school… He's supposed to be a really good pitcher but the coach won't play him because he misses part of practice. So I asked Phil if he had any ideas."

"Uh-huh. And who is this friend of yours?"

Dad has his cop-face on. I've seen it before. It's the face he wears when he's trying to get to the bottom of something. He's looking for motive. I look back at the notepad just to avoid the parental interrogation in his eyes.

"His name is Edward…Edward Cullen. He's my Advanced Biology lab partner."

"Doctor Cullen's son?" he asks and I nod. "Good lookin' boy," Dad observes, watching my reaction for "tells" because he does that for a living. I feel my face heat up and I roll my eyes because Edward _is_ good-looking, of course, but that just sounds weird, coming from my father.

"He's just a friend, Dad! I hardly know him!" I drop my eyes to avoid Chief Swan's steady gaze and further investigation.

Then I look back up because I can't help wondering… "How do you know Edward?"

"Cut my hand, cleaning the gutters couple months ago." He points out a scar between his thumb and forefinger. "Dr. Cullen stitched me up. Asked if I'd mind if his son watched. Edward was there at the clinic, doing some volunteer work."

"He wants to be a doctor," I say, remembering Alice saying Edward plans to study medicine at some Ivy League school.

Dad nods. "So what's going on with this boy?" he asks.

I explain it all: Edward making up missed school because he had mono, not being able to take sixth period Athletics, Coach Clapp's hard-nosed approach, and me talking to Phil about it all—simply because Edward is a friend, I emphasize. Then I tell Dad what Phil said about Jason Jenks being willing to work with Edward—if Coach Clapp is agreeable.

In the end, Charlie seems appeased. He nods and all he says is, "Aberdeen's kind of far. About two hours south of here." And then he shrugs. "Guess that's between Edward and his father. And the McCarty boy, if Edward's supposed to bring his catcher."

*I*

_Monday, February 11, 1991_

_Holy crap! I was standing in the lunch line with Jessica today when she said Edward Cullen was staring at us. I didn't see him at the table where he usually sits, but then I spotted him sitting by himself at a different table. He smiled and motioned for me to come over. I was speechless! Of course Jessica wasn't speechless. She kept asking me if he meant just me or her too, so she finally pointed to both of us but Edward shook his head, pointing to just me. When I walked away after paying for my pizza and lemonade Jessica was still firing off questions I couldn't answer…_

*I*

I feel like there's a spotlight on me as I walk across the cafeteria. I can feel people watching as I approach Edward. He's smiling his perfect, crooked smile and when I get to his table he nods toward the chair opposite him.

"Why don't you have lunch with me today?" he asks.

"Um…sure. Thanks." I can barely think straight but I manage to set my tray down and take a seat.

"I hope she's not mad I've stolen you away." He looks past me to where Jessica must be.

I shrug. "I'm sure she'll be fine but she'll be demanding answers in sixth period Spanish." He chuckles, his eyes on mine as I uncap my lemonade.

This feels so different from sitting next to him in Bio. How am I going to sit _across_ from him all lunch period, watching him watching me? I have butterflies in my stomach already. How am I going to eat?

As I take a drink to wet my dry mouth Edward picks up my lemonade cap and gives it a spin. But he's still watching me, like he's waiting for…I don't know what. There's amusement in his green eyes and his lips are pressed together like he's trying not to laugh at some secret joke.

"What's going on?" I ask as I set my drink down, starting to feel self-conscious.

"I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_." He cocks an eyebrow and his lips part slightly, but they're still curving up at the corners.

I frown. I have no idea what he means but it could just be that I'm too befuddled in the overwhelming presence of this handsome boy.

He leans toward me across the table. "Does the name 'Jay Jenks' mean anything to you?" he asks.

"What…?" It takes a split second to register. "OH! Yes! YES! Oh, my GOD!" I slap my hand down on the table. "I have so much to _tell_ you!" And then I stop and I blink. "Wait…you _already_ _know_?!" He's laughing and it's such a good look on him, even if he's laughing at my short-circuiting brain.

"I don't know much," he finally says with a little shrug. "But I'm betting _you_ can enlighten me."

I'm stumped. How does he know? "How on earth did you find out?!" I demand. "I was going to tell you all about it in Bio!"

He smiles and starts fiddling with the lemonade cap again and shakes his head, exhaling a chuckle. "I don't know what you did, but I got a call slip during third period to go see Coach Clapp in the PE office. When I got there, he was practically falling all over himself, saying he'd gotten a call from "_my pitching coach"_ this morning, and what an honor it is for me to get to work with Jason Jenks, and how he was such a fan of Jenks when he played for the Mariners. Then he said if I'm going to be putting in time on my own with that caliber of coach he has no qualms about playing me in the games."

"Edward, that's great!"

He nods. He's sort of beaming at me and there's something so boyishly sweet about his excitement.

"It really is. Even though I don't have the faintest idea what he was talking about! I just went along with it and kept nodding because I suspected you'd know." He picks up a slice of his pizza as he continues. "The worst thing was when he started asking how I knew the guy. I didn't know what to say until I could talk to you, so I told him I had to get back to Trig class for a quiz. So he let me go, saying he'd talk to me during practice," he finishes, finally taking a bite of his pizza.

I'm just smiling, but somehow, once Edward starts eating, I'm able to eat as well. It's surprisingly easy, as is talking with him. In between bites I explain my conversations with Phil. I give him the slip of paper where I'd jotted information and the phone number Phil gave me. I tell Edward everything, including Phil's thought that a name with clout, like Jay Jenks, probably gave Coach Clapp a way to justify playing Edward to the rest of the team.

Edward is so appreciative and excited. When the bell rings for the end of lunch, he tells me to wait up. Both of our lockers are on the way to Bio so we walk to fifth period together.

Or maybe we're both floating on air.

*I*

My alarm rings and Fitz looks over his shoulder in disbelief. I'm sure he didn't appreciate my tossing and turning last night. I hit the snooze button and Fitz lays his head back down, glad for another five minutes.

I think back to that first Monday Edward and I had lunch together. And the next day in Bio, when he told me his mother wanted to invite me to dinner as a thank you. I was so nervous that Wednesday evening, back when I had dinner at the Cullens' house for the first time.

Mrs. Cullen was a gracious hostess, an incredible cook, and a really sweet mom. Doctor Cullen was more reserved but pleased Edward would have the opportunity to play ball his final semester of high school. As long as he kept his grades up. And thankfully he didn't seem too concerned about the five hours it would take Edward to make the round-trip for Sunday practices, as long as he took care of his weekend responsibilities by Sunday evening. I didn't see Doctor Cullen balk at all until we were halfway through dessert—homemade peach cobbler, his favorite—when Edward invited me to go along with him to Aberdeen on Sunday. Mrs. Cullen jumped on the idea, despite her husband's hesitation. She thought it was a wonderful plan and only right, seeing as how I was the link between Edward and Jay Jenks.

I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised when a big black Mercedes showed up at the house that Sunday for the trip to Aberdeen. It was the only time Doctor Cullen would ever drive us, but I still remember the way his eyes repeatedly flickered to the rear-view mirror, settling on me, sitting next to Emmett, in the backseat of that car.

Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy or maybe Carlisle suspected it was just a matter of time. All I know is, a few months later—the night the Spartans won the league championship in May—Edward decided to begin breaking all the rules. He took me out on a date that night, and regularly after that, and we wound up in a serious relationship before he headed off to college in the fall. But despite my presence in his life, Edward earned the requisite A's and gave the valedictory address at graduation that June, having finished at the top of his class. And as far as I was concerned, the summer before Edward left for Dartmouth was one of the two best summers of my life.

My alarm rings again, signaling that snooze time is over—not that I snoozed, but Fitz did. This this time I shut the alarm off, set my notebook on the nightstand, and shove the covers aside. It's time to leave the past behind and ready myself for the hard day ahead.

*I*

Mom and Phil come by the house to drive me to the church and I offer them coffee and scones. I haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon, but I'm too nauseated from sleeplessness and stress to stomach anything. As we leave the house I'm struck by the stark contrast between our somber attire and the beautiful spring morning it has turned out to be. There's not a cloud in the sky over Forks.

I text Angela that we're on our way and she meets us in front of the church with Ben and her parents. We all greet each other and Angela hugs me hard, leaving us both teary. Reverend Weber spends a few moments going over final details with us as we walk into the church. I see Dad's casket is already up front, surrounded by flowers, and it just seems so surreal to think of him there.

On a table in the vestibule is a stack of little memorial pamphlets, printed up by the funeral home. There's a photo of Dad, his name and his birth and death dates on the front, and inside is his obituary and today's order of service. Next to the stack are three photos Dad had wanted enlarged and displayed on this inevitable day. The first photo is of him in uniform as Forks' Chief of Police. The second photo is of Dad with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater, taken during a fishing trip just a few months before Harry died. We argued about the last photo, but Dad said we were discussing _his_ final wishes, not _mine_, so he could choose whatever darn photo he wanted. So there we are, at the University of Washington, Dad at my side and me in my cap and gown, on one the proudest days of his life. Today I'm glad to see that photo, despite the lump I now have in my throat.

"Hey, Bella." I recognize the deep, mellow voice behind me before I even turn and see him or his wheelchair.

"Hey, Billy. How are you?" I clasp his outstretched hand in mine and lean down to give him a hug and he murmurs how sorry he is about Dad's passing. I've known Dad's best friend all my life and I'm grateful my former father-in-law and I have managed to remain friendly. I owe a lot to Jake for that.

"Oh, I'm doing okay, you know… Sure going to miss my buddy, though." I nod and thankfully Billy gives me a moment as he greets Mom and Phil.

After a short conversation with Billy, Mom tells me she and Phil are going to go sit down. I know this is awkward for them but she's here as my mother, not as Dad's ex-wife.

"Jake's sorry he wasn't able to be here," Billy tells me. "Things are kind of hectic right now."

"No, that's fine. He sent a card and wrote me a very nice note. And I appreciate the donation he made in Dad's name." I smile and then I think to ask, "You don't happen to have a picture of that new grandbaby on you, do you?"

Billy seems surprised but he can't help smiling. "As a matter of fact…" He shifts in his chair, reaching for his wallet, pulls out a photo out and hands it to me. "Here's little Ephraim William Black…with his daddy."

"Aww…" I chuckle. "What a sweet little face." I can't help but smile and maybe feel the tiniest bit wistful as I look at proud Papa Jake, holding his sleeping little blue bundle: such golden skin, those chubby cheeks, and all that fine black hair, sticking straight up in the air.

"He looks a lot like Jake when he was a baby," Billy says, looking at the photo before carefully tucking it away. "They'll be out sometime this summer," he says. "Then I'll finally get to hold me a grandson." I smile at that. He was hoping he'd get one eventually since both of Jake's older sisters had girls.

Billy looks over his shoulder and sees other people hovering about, waiting to say a few words to me. "I better get a move on," Billy says. "I'll talk to you later, Bella."

A few of Dad's co-workers from the station and several friends from Forks and La Push stop and offer their condolences. When I greet Shelly and George Cope I get teary again and decide I'd better go take my seat to try and collect myself. I sit on the aisle up front, next to Mom, with Phil on the other side of her. Mom holds my hand in hers. Phil rests his arm along the pew behind Mom and his hand clasps my shoulder.

As we sit, I listen to the hushed sounds of people filing in and taking their seats but I don't turn around to look. Instead I look at the casket and I think about my dad and so many little captured moments in time throughout the years. I'm still sifting through memories when the organist finally begins playing, signaling the beginning of Dad's service.

Charlie had been adamant in regards to his final wishes. He didn't want anything too fancy, he'd said, and definitely nothing that went on too long. The quicker everyone got back to living their lives, the better, in his opinion. He hadn't wanted a visitation before the day of the funeral service, figuring if anyone wanted to visit with him, they should have gotten that out of the way while he was still alive and able to participate. He'd also wanted a closed casket; no parade of people hovering about, looking at him in death. He preferred they'd think of him as he lived.

Other than those general guidelines, he'd left most of the funeral service decisions up to the Reverend Adam Weber, figuring he was an expert in this kind of thing, and as a friend, he would respect Charlie's wishes for something meaningful, but short and to the point. And no poems—he hated poetry.

And so, once the service gets underway, Reverend Weber's prayers, scripture reading, and sermon are all fairly brief, interspersed with equally brief music and hymns. And no poems whatsoever. Reverend Weber also speaks, briefly, about the highlights of Dad's life here in Forks: his birth, youth, adulthood, marriage, fatherhood, and contribution to the community.

Forks' new Chief of Police, Waylon Frye, talks about Dad's years of service and strong work ethic. He shares a humorous anecdote about the early days of computer-use at the station, back in the eighties, when Dad routinely threatened his computer with lockup if it refused to cooperate. I hear the ripple of quiet chuckles behind me and I smile, seeing Dad's twitching mustache and steely glare in my mind's eye. Chief Frye reminds us that Dad was the youngest Chief of Police in Forks' history, with the most years of service in that position, and he concludes by saying he is doing his best to fill Dad's big shoes.

Billy Black moves up to the front and talks about how much he valued Dad's friendship through the years, and his support during difficult times in Billy's life. He says Dad was like a brother to him. He speaks fondly of his fishing trips with Dad and Harry. He adds that a truly just God will make sure all fish caught in the afterlife are of equal size, so Dad and Harry aren't up there arguing or gloating. And then, pointing heavenward, says he just hopes those two are throwing some back for him to catch when he gets there.

And finally I get up to speak about my father. My mouth is dry as I walk up to the front of the church and I wish I'd thought to bring a bottle of water this morning.

I turn and face the assembled mourners for the first time and I'm stunned. The church is filled. There are so many neighbors, friends, and acquaintances of Dad's from Forks and the reservation in La Push. I see the faces of my own childhood friends, many with their parents. Several friends and co-workers from my years in Port Angeles have also come. I recognize community leaders and numerous business owners from Forks as well as staff from the medical clinic and members of the stroke support group Dad attended. I recognize the faces of the paramedics who showed up on Dad's last day and tried their very best. And all the uniforms—more than just Dad's coworkers from the station. Officers have come from elsewhere in Clallam County, from both police and sheriff's departments, to pay their respects to one of their own.

"Wow," I say as my blurring eyes sweep over the crowd—some standing in the back and near the side doors. "Just look at you all…" I have to pause before I can continue. I'm filled with emotion to see how many people cared about Dad and chose to come today.

Finally I lift my head and continue. "You know, if Charlie is looking down here, he's probably a little concerned, wondering who's minding the community. He's probably also thinking, on a day as pretty as this, we should all be outdoors, enjoying the weather…and fishing if at all possible." There are knowing smiles and nods.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm Charlie's daughter, Bella. I appreciate you coming to honor my father today.

"After moving away as a child I always looked forward to holiday and summer visits with Dad but I didn't return to live in Forks until I was seventeen. It was an adjustment for both of us but Dad always made sure to let me know how much he loved me. I know he also loved Forks. He cared so much about this community and all of you and I'm grateful he shared that with me.

"I've been thinking a lot lately about fathers and what makes a good dad. Mine made me very proud. He worked hard and always tried to do right by others. He was honest and fair, and always willing to listen or lend a helping hand. He was kind and caring, and his guidance and support helped me through some difficult times.

I take a deep, shaky breath and forge on. "After he suffered his stroke last May, I was glad I could be there for him. It was frustrating for him, having to focus on himself for a change, rather than others, but his rehabilitation brought us even closer. I'll never forget Dad's strength, patience, perseverance and the fact that he kept his sense of humor.

"I have so many good memories of my father. And I know he's listening and probably wishing I would cut this short, so I'll just say, I love you, Dad. And I miss you."

*I*

The funeral procession and police escort from the church to the cemetery took a while, with so many mourners turning up again at the gravesite. The pallbearers, all Forks uniformed police officers, have solemnly set Dad's casket next to his final resting place. The sun on this warm spring day is beating down on us, and dressed in black, I'm wishing once again that I had some water. I'm feeling lightheaded and my empty stomach churns as the finality of this all hits me anew.

As Reverend Weber says a few more words something draws my attention. It's an odd sensation, more than anything else. I gaze off to the side, beyond the throng of mourners, and my breath catches in my throat. My heart begins pounding and Reverend Weber's words become more and more muffled. I can't breathe and I begin to feel dizzy. I blink, not trusting at first what my mind is telling me I'm seeing.

A distance away, standing in the shade, near the trunk of a tree, is a lone tall figure in a black suit. His hair is shorter and somewhat darker than it used to be, and a neat, closely-trimmed beard now covers his strong jaw, but even at this distance, and after all this time, I recognize him. I'd know him anywhere. I know I'm looking at Edward Cullen. And as my field of vision narrows, and dims, and quickly fades to black, I know his eyes are locked on mine.

* * *

**A/N: I'd love to hear your thoughts. I hope I did Charlie justice?**


	11. A Change in Viewpoint

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Have an aversion to the beard? Facial hair is not set in stone. It can change. Scruffward is in the banner on my profile page. (Thanks, Twi-Ho!)

* * *

**Chapter 11: A Change in Viewpoint**

**Six days ago…**

**In a home office in Chicago…**

Edward Cullen sat motionless, elbows propped on the desk, mouth pressed against his clasped hands as he faced the computer, his eyes unfocused, no longer seeing the image or words on the screen before him. Though physically still, his thoughts raced, absorbing the news he'd just discovered online—on the front page of the weekly Forks Forum.

*I*

During his freshman and sophomore years at Dartmouth, between trips home for Thanksgiving, winter, spring, and summer breaks, the more mundane news of Forks had come to Edward through letters and the occasional phone call from his parents. More interesting, personal, and intimate news from Forks had arrived in the letters and phone calls from Bella Swan during her senior year at Forks High and first year at the University of Washington. And of course, the hours Edward and Bella spent together, upon his return trips home, gave them additional opportunities to catch up on each other's lives and love.

That had changed rather abruptly just before spring break of Edward's second year of college, when his parents made the decision to pull up roots in Forks and move back to Chicago.

Carlisle Cullen had been offered a more prestigious, higher-paying position, working with former colleagues at a new hospital. And with aging parents still living in Chicago, Esme Cullen had readily agreed to the move. And though Edward had always looked forward to his family's occasional trips to his birthplace and visits with both sets of grandparents there, the permanence of his parents' impending move, and the impact it would have on his personal life, had left him devastated.

When Edward returned home for spring break his mother had been sympathetic, trying to offer hope for his long-distance relationship with Bella. His father had been apologetic, but also quite a bit more pragmatic, pointing out that Edward and Bella were both only nineteen and had to consider their futures realistically. There were still quite a few college years to get through and careers to build. So much could and probably would change in the years to come for the two of them, he'd said. And then, to drive the point home, he'd added, "Miss Right Now is very likely _not_ going to be Mrs. Right, later on down the road."

Edward didn't speak to his father for days after that.

Instead he spent his time considering his and Bella's situation from every angle.

Without family living in Forks, Edward knew his opportunities to return to visit Bella would be few and far between, at the very best. His stays in Forks would be short, if he even found someone to take him in for the duration of his trips. No matter how you looked at it, the expense and logistics of bridging the three thousand miles between them—time and again—were daunting. As it was, the time and distance apart, not to mention his repeated departures, were already hard on both of them. It would be that much harder without his family's home base in the equation.

Changing schools was out of the question, Edward knew, especially if you were putting the question to Carlisle Cullen—who was financing his tuition, room, and board. Edward had asked the question and gotten the expected response. Getting _out_ of attending the Ivy League college and medical school his father and grandfather had attended was far less likely than getting _in_ had been.

Edward couldn't ask Bella to move. Finances for her schooling in Seattle were already stretched thin, despite some scholarship monies she'd been awarded. The cost of out-of-state tuition in New Hampshire would be prohibitive for Charlie Swan, never mind that he would refuse to go along with such a plan in the first place. He'd just gotten his daughter back two years ago, after missing out on most of the previous fifteen years of her life. He wasn't about to approve of her moving to the East Coast, just to be near her high school boyfriend.

Dropping out to stay together… Well, that was a romantic notion, probably better left to fictional characters in romance novels. The stress it would put on their relationships with their families would only put additional stress on their own relationship.

Edward eventually came to the conclusion there was really only one option. With years of college and medical school still ahead of him, he couldn't ask Bella to wait for him. So on his last morning in Forks, he'd told her not to.

It had been the hardest decision he'd ever made. Trying to be noble had left him empty and desolate.

After that terrible last morning, news of Forks came to Edward only sporadically through emails from a few far-flung high school friends, including Jasper Whitlock, studying at Texas A &amp; M, and Emmett McCarty, at USC. Most of those correspondences tapered off over time as friends pursued their college paths and careers. The exception was a former classmate from Forks, Garrett Hawkins, who had begun attending the University of Massachusetts in Boston the same year Edward started at Dartmouth.

Garrett was a gregarious sort. He accumulated friends easily and kept in touch with many from back home, including a few who lived in La Push. Hardly more than acquaintances during high school, the proximity of Edward and Garrett's schools on the east coast gave them a further connection and with a big extended family in Boston, Garrett often invited Edward for visits on weekends. It was nice to hang out with someone from back home.

Their friendship grew and they kept in touch. It was Garrett who had kept Edward up to date on the news from Forks…and La Push…and then Port Angeles…after his break-up with Bella Swan.

That stopped ten years ago, as did Edward's friendship with Garrett Hawkins, when he no longer wanted to hear _anything_ Garrett had to say, whatsoever.

*I*

In the years since, Edward hadn't sought news of Forks—or Port Angeles, for that matter very often. It had become as pointless and pathetic as Googling an individual from his distant past—someone whose life had forked off in new directions, as had his own. And so Edward had closed the book on his tracking endeavors some years ago, regretfully admitting the past was precisely just that—past.

But this afternoon, while sitting at his desk in his home office in Chicago, Edward had decided to check up on Forks for the first time in a long, long time. He blamed his Googling on his scheduled departure tomorrow for a trip to the Pacific Northwest, and because of it, he could also admit to a distinct sense of nostalgia and curiosity about his former home.

Edward's eyes flickered back to the upper left corner of the page on the screen in front of him—to the date on the front page of the Forks Forum. It was today's date, April 10. It struck him odd that he'd felt compelled to search for news of Forks online today, the same day this posted. Had it been a day earlier, he wouldn't have known.

His eyes dropped back down then, studying the face in the photograph once more. It had changed little over time, assuming the photo had been taken in recent years. His eyes shifted back over to the accompanying article and once again, he read the front page obituary for Charlie Swan.

The former chief of police had only been sixty-one, the article said. That was still rather young, Edward knew—seven years younger than his own father—still working and showing no signs of stopping anytime soon. The obituary mentioned a stroke a year ago and then the heart attack, which had claimed Charlie Swan's life just three days ago.

The news saddened Edward. He'd known Charlie Swan, though Edward had been a teenager at the time. But he'd dated his daughter, spent time in his home, dined with him in his house, and even slept there on occasion—unbeknownst to the Chief, of course. Heck, Edward had even done yard work and mowed the man's lawn on numerous occasions.

Edward leaned back in his desk chair, recalling the last time he'd seen Charlie Swan. It had been on that final heartbreaking morning in Forks…

*I*

He had sneaked back in through Bella's bedroom window, once Charlie had gone to bed. It certainly wasn't the first time he and Bella had said their goodbyes that way, but Edward knew it would be the last. And so he clutched her to him, soothing her with tender words and touches, memorizing every last little thing about her. They held each other close, bodies pressed tightly together, legs entwined, with tears mingling on the pillow, until Bella finally fell asleep in exhaustion.

Edward didn't leave that night, nor did he sleep. Instead he lay awake, watching Bella sleep, breathing in the familiar scent of her, listening to her soft inhales and exhales, dreading the moment she would awaken and he'd have to break her heart.

She knew he was leaving. She knew his family was moving. That much he'd told her. She just didn't know everything. But he couldn't continue to put her through this. It was so unfair to her.

Edward was so distracted by his own thoughts that he never heard a sound from the room across the hall in the early morning, or the approaching footsteps in the hallway outside Bella's bedroom door. The door had merely opened quietly, and there stood a uniformed Charlie Swan.

The Chief's eyes widened in shock as he took in Edward, lying on the bed, spooning his sleeping daughter. Edward stared back equally as shocked, expecting some shouting. He was thankful both he and Bella were clothed again, at least.

Charlie frowned. His mouth dropped open as if he were about to speak, and then just as abruptly, his mouth clamped shut in a flat, grim line. He must have noticed the mascara smears on Bella's pale face, and maybe the dark bruise-like circles under Edward's red-rimmed eyes, because the look in Charlie Swan's eyes softened. He exhaled heavily, gave Edward a slight nod before retreating, and shut the door just as softly as he'd opened it. And that was it. That was the last time Edward ever saw Charlie Swan.

He didn't know if Charlie had ever spoken of that moment to Bella, but he felt certain Charlie had suspected what was coming, at the very least, in regards to his daughter.

*I*

Rocking slightly in his desk chair, Edward closed his eyes as he recalled the confusion on Bella's face that morning, when she awoke and he finally told her of his decision. And then he recalled the disbelief, the hurt and the anger on her beautiful young face.

Edward sighed. It had been beyond awful and it still pained him to think of it, but he'd just wanted to do the right thing by her. She had deserved to move on and experience her college years without being held back, waiting for the rare return of a phantom boyfriend living thousands of miles away.

A year later, Garret Hawkins told him he'd seen Bella Swan with Jacob Black. He'd seen them together over spring break at First Beach that following year.

And a handful of years later, when it was actually already a moot point anyway, Edward had found out they'd married.

Picking up a pen that had been lying on the desktop, Edward began alternately twirling the pen and stabbing at a notepad. His thoughts wandered back in time, to his first memory of Bella Swan and the months that had followed.

*I*

Forks High School had been abuzz before she'd even arrived, midway through Edward's senior year of high school. Word had gotten out and around: Chief Swan had a mystery daughter and she was moving to Forks. You'd have thought the circus was coming to town. Edward didn't take part in the speculation, although having met Chief Swan a few months earlier—when he'd had a gash on his hand mended at the medical center—Edward had tried to imagine Charlie Swan's features on the face of a teenaged girl. The results were grotesque—the mustache kept throwing him off.

The actual teenaged girl's face had been a tremendous improvement on Edward's imaginings. He'd spotted her in the parking lot that first morning, climbing out of an unfamiliar, old and faded red truck. He paused in his own car to watch her. She wasn't very tall, and although she was wearing a heavy coat, he could see she had a rather slight build. It made her appear rather fragile, though maybe that was partly due to her porcelain skin. She had her father's wavy brown hair and big dark eyes, but she was definitely more attractive and had a much softer look than the Chief. Edward watched as she'd looked around somewhat hesitantly and then, slinging her backpack over one shoulder, she'd marched past his car, head down and looking rather determined, heading for the school's office.

He wound up being her lab partner in Biology class that same day.

Despite an unfortunate and awkward beginning, the class Edward had regretted having to re-take became the class he looked forward to the most. Bella Swan was pretty, funny, smart and sweet, and so many things she said and did were just plain appealing to him. In no time at all, Edward Cullen had a tremendous crush on his lab partner.

He did his best to hide his feelings, refusing to act on them. It was bad timing, falling for a girl when he would be leaving for college in less than six months. He also had barely any free time to devote to a girlfriend, with the academic pressure placed on him by his father, the demands on his time as student body president, volunteering at the medical clinic, attending after school and weekend baseball practices, and playing in the games—thanks to the efforts and connections of that very same thoughtful and intriguing girl.

But the heart ignores common sense. It wants what it wants. And Edward Cullen wanted Bella Swan. After the Spartans' championship win, when Edward's baseball season was coming to an end, he finally broke all the rules.

Partly it was because of the upcoming Forks High prom.

Edward hadn't attended the previous year's prom. He'd been sick with mono. Not that it really mattered anyway—there hadn't been anyone he'd really wanted to ask. But this year his mother was hopeful he wouldn't miss out on that particular "rite of passage." He'd rolled his eyes at his mother at the time. He didn't tell her he'd already decided to ask Bella Swan, especially after hearing a particularly interesting story from Emmett McCarty just a few days earlier.

Emmett's mother, Ellen McCarty, worked at the bank with Mary Brandon—Alice's mother. One day Mrs. Brandon mentioned to Mrs. McCarty that Alice had become great friends with Chief Swan's daughter, who was often at the Brandon home when Mary returned from work. She regularly asked Alice and Bella about their day at school and recently Bella's standard reply had become, "School was fine, even though Edward Cullen forgot to ask me to prom again today." She would giggle then, because she had said it in jest, of course, but word was passed from Mrs. Brandon to Mrs. McCarty that the Chief's daughter appeared to have quite the crush on Dr. Cullen's son. Mrs. McCarty took the information and anecdote home, passing it on to her son, Emmett, who immediately called Edward and divulged all.

Edward couldn't wipe the grin off his face for the next twenty four hours after hearing that tale. Armed with that information, he took more notice of all that blushing Bella did in the next couple days at school, noticing it happened primarily in his presence. Her involuntary and alluring reaction to him charmed him, especially now that he knew his feelings for her were reciprocated. She had always been friendly to him, but she'd never made a single overt move on him, and the innocence of her shy crush on him was too tempting to be ignored. Edward had never experienced such tender feelings for a girl before.

So on the night the Spartans won the league championship, Edward finally asked Bella out. He kissed her goodnight for the first time that evening and with his heart still pounding in his chest afterward, he'd asked her to prom. He'd actually quite ridiculously asked if she "would do him the honor of accompanying him to prom—a rite of passage, not to be missed." She'd looked at him in surprise and then she'd giggled at his courtly phrasing, asking him what century he was from. They were both still grinning when he pulled her close once again, tipped his head down, and kissed her again after she'd said yes.

*I*

Edward stretched back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head. His gaze flickered to the vast bookshelves covering the opposite wall of his home office. There were some medical volumes, a much larger collection of legal tomes, and a wide variety of fiction and non-fiction novels, among other miscellaneous books. His eyes moved to the true oddity in his collection—a series of young adult romance novels. One of them, a volume with a cover in the same midnight blue as the dress she'd worn to prom, bore the title, _A Rite of Passage_.

He'd always wondered about those books and even more so about their elusive author.

"Hey, Dad? Pizza's here!" a voice called from the kitchen.

Edward blinked. He'd been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't even heard the doorbell.

Clearing his throat, he called back, "I'll be there in a minute! My wallet is on the kitchen counter. Give the guy an extra five bucks for a tip."

"Will do!" came the reply.

Edward leaned forward and tapped once on the computer's keyboard. The Forks Forum came back up on the screen and his eyes scanned down to the end of the obituary, where a particular sentence had caught his attention earlier.

_Charlie is survived by his daughter, Isabella Swan, of Forks, Washington._

Isabella Swan.

Not Isabella Black.

Of Forks, Washington.

Not Port Angeles, Washington.

He read further.

_A funeral service will be held at 10:00 AM on Wednesday, April 17, 2013, at the Community Church in Forks. _

Edward drummed his fingers on the desktop as he thought through his plans for the following week. They were leaving for Washington State tomorrow, Friday, and would arrive in Forks on Monday. They had to leave Forks early on Tuesday to make it to Seattle by the afternoon and then the plan was to stay there until late in the day on Thursday, before beginning the drive back to Chicago. But now…

Edward closed the screen on the computer. It was time for dinner. And time to discuss a possible change in plans. Plans could change, after all. They weren't set in stone.

Names were much less likely to change, though they did on occasion.

For some reason, she was Bella Swan once again.

* * *

**A/N: So…there's that.**


	12. Ghost from the Past

**Indelible**

**A/N: **ManyFanficwards have made bad decisions, just like canon Edward. Can they change the past? No. But they can be regretful and learn from their poor decisions.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Ghost from the Past**

"Bella?"

I whirl around at the sound of Angela's voice. She's standing just behind me, peering over my shoulder and out the window to the street in front of Dad's house.

"What?"

"That's the third time you've gone to look out the front window in the past hour," she notes.

I follow her gaze as she looks back at the crowd gathered in the house after the funeral. Many are still finishing up luncheon plates of sandwiches and salads, sipping at waters or sodas. A few have moved on to coffee and cookies. Conversations between groups of friends and acquaintances fill the living room, spill into the kitchen, and out onto the back porch. Through the back window I see someone in the yard tossing a ball for Fitz.

Angela turns to face me and smiles. "I'm pretty sure everyone who is coming is already here. Who are you looking for?"

I shake my head and smile. "No one. Just…you know…looking outside. It's a pretty spring day."

Angela nods but her eyes narrow as she continues looking at me. "What's up, Bella?" she asks in a low voice. "You've been acting weird ever since you fainted at the cemetery."

I roll my eyes at her but she's having none of it. She pulls me aside, away from where Mike Newton and his parents, Karen and Mike Senior, are chatting with Tyler Crowley and his mom, Beth.

"Nice eye-roll, Swan. What are you, thirteen? Tell me what's going on," she says quietly.

I glance back toward the window and sigh. I know she's going to think I'm losing my mind.

"You didn't see," I tell her. "No one did, I'm guessing. Everyone was too busy watching me make a spectacle of myself. By the time Phil quit flapping papers in my face and Mom let me sit up and get my head out from between my knees, it was too late. He was gone."

She frowns. "He? Who's _he_?" Her eyes widen suddenly. "The boy from the coffee shop? The one you said looked like Edward Cullen?"

"No. Edward. I saw Edward."

Angela's eyes widen and her mouth drops open, saying nothing, which says everything.

"He was at the cemetery," I add, just to be clear.

She blinks and her frown returns. "You saw _Edward_?"

I nod.

"At the _cemetery_?"

I nod again.

Her frown deepens, accompanied by a look of real concern in her eyes. "Bella, you've been under a lot of stress. Maybe you just imagined…"

"I know it sounds crazy, Angela, but I know what I saw. Edward Cullen is here…in Forks. And he was at Charlie's funeral…well, at the burial, anyway. I didn't see him in the church."

"Are you sure it wasn't just that same boy?"

"Not unless that boy aged twenty years, got a haircut, and grew a beard in the past two days. No. I saw Edward. It was his tall, lanky body and his hair—though shorter and maybe slightly darker. It was definitely his face…and his features—except for the close beard."

"Where was he?" she asks, more curious than doubtful, finally.

"He was just…standing on the hillside under a tree, beyond the group of mourners, dressed in a black suit and tie. I just turned my head and…there he was…watching me. And then I fainted. When I finally looked back afterward…he was gone."

"Was he…the reason you fainted?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not. Like I told you before, I was already overheated and I hadn't eaten anything. And then suddenly…there he was, looking right at me. It was such a shock, you know?"

"Well, of course it was." Her eyes shift away, traveling across the room to land on Mom, listening to something Doctor Gerandy is saying to Shelly and George Cope. "Did you tell your mom?" Angela asks, returning her gaze to me.

I shake my head. "No. I didn't feel up to a barrage of questions I couldn't answer."

She nods in understanding. And then she asks the same question I can't stop asking myself.

"After all these years, why would he would turn up at your father's funeral and then not stick around to talk to you? Or come by the house, like everyone else?"

I shrug because I'm just as baffled. "I don't know. I can't stop wondering the same thing. It just seems…kind of…"

"Rude?" Angela suggests, her brows lift as she awaits my verdict.

I sigh and nod. "Yeah. And now I'm the rude one, ignoring my guests to look out the window for an elusive ghost from the past."

Angela shakes her head, disagreeing like a good friend. "Given the situation, I'd say it's completely understandable. But don't worry, Bella. I'm sure no one is going to judge you on your hostessing skills today. Everything is buffet style anyway."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Thanks. And thanks for listening and not thinking I'm crazy. And thank you, again, for picking everything up at the deli for me this morning."

She waves a hand dismissively. "It was no problem. They had everything ready to go and we had plenty of room in the church kitchen to store it."

I nod. "Well…I guess I should mingle a bit more, before people start getting ready to leave."

She loops her arm through mine and smiles. "I'll mingle with you, Swan. Come on."

As we pass the front window she slows. We look outside for elusive ghosts before moving on to groups of friends and acquaintances.

*I*

Edward's phone vibrated in his hand where he held it against his leg. He turned it over and read the texted response to his earlier texted inquiry.

_I'm fine. I biked to that park. You were right about the view from the overlook. I'm going to eat some lunch I picked up and then read for awhile before I head back. _

A photo popped up on the screen. He smiled at the attached grinning, thumbs-up selfie, with a view of the Hoh River in the background. The photo was followed by another message.

_See you later. Quit worrying._

Easier said than done, Edward thought as he set the phone down on the passenger seat next to him. Worrying was second nature. And he'd done nothing but worry for days. And now, after what happened this morning at the cemetery, he found himself second-guessing his decision to show up at the funeral in the first place.

She'd seen him. He knew that for certain. Her eyes had locked on his and then the next thing he knew, she was slumping in her seat. There was a muffled sound of distress as Renee, sitting to one side of her, reacted—keeping Bella from falling out of her chair. The service stopped as Phil, on her other side, helped to hold her in place, fanning her face with some papers.

Edward had taken a few steps in their direction. But when he saw Renee rubbing Bella's back as she sat forward, head down, it was clear to him she must have just fainted.

He'd retreated a few steps then, as he watched them caring for her.

It wasn't his place.

If anything, it was his fault.

He'd turned and headed up the hill almost immediately, feeling quite the ass for unnecessarily adding to the strain of her already difficult day.

He chastised himself for his stupidity and thoughtlessness. He should have tried to contact her, instead of just showing up out of the blue. But every time he'd thought about it, the words wouldn't come. A card or a note by mail, or a phone call—after all this time—just seemed tremendously inadequate.

When he'd gotten to where he'd parked the truck, he'd looked back again. As he watched, she finally sat back upright, though Phil was still fanning her face and Renee was holding her hair up off her neck. He knew she must have been okay because the service appeared to resume, but he couldn't stop thinking about that look on her face when she'd spotted him. That look of recognition and confusion. And how fragile she'd seemed in the next moment when she collapsed in place.

He'd seen her faint before, though he hadn't been the cause of it back then.

Now, as he sat parked along the street about a dozen cars up from her house, he thought back to that blood typing lab years ago in Biology.

*I*

It was mid-way through spring semester. He already had quite the crush on her by then.

She seemed antsy and nervous right from the start of class that day. And when he asked if something was wrong, she just said she didn't really like blood—the sight of it or the smell of it. He looked at her in disbelief and chuckled, because, who can smell blood?

He should have taken her seriously, he discovered. Instead he just watched her prick her finger, and squeeze a drop of blood out onto the microscope slide. She swayed a little and looked up at him—her face colorless and her eyes so wide and vacant. She told him she didn't feel well. The words were barely out of her mouth when her eyes fluttered closed and she slumped in her chair, luckily falling toward him rather than the floor.

It scared the wits out of him, even as he told himself she had probably just fainted. Calling out to Mr. Banner, he scooted his chair to the side and leaned her limp body forward, holding her in place with her head down as the teacher approached. By that time, she was already coming to, trying to push his hands away and moaning, "Oh my god, how stupid am I?"

He held onto her, despite her objections, and when she finally sat up, he'd pushed her hair away from her face and brushed the backs of his fingers along her forehead and cheeks. She was still so clammy and pale and he saw tears of embarrassment in her eyes. He looked up, glaring at the gaping students around them, daring them to mention what had just happened—as if she wasn't already self-conscious enough. He quietly volunteered to take her up to the nurse and Mr. Banner wrote a hasty hall pass.

Minutes later, and only halfway down the hallway, she darted away from his side and into the girls' restroom, where he heard her ridding herself of the lunch she'd eaten just prior to Bio.

Edward had never entered a girls' restroom before that day. And even though she yelled at him to get out when she heard his voice, he was more worried she might faint again and hit her head, so he ignored her pleas and waited. He handed her a few damp paper towels when she exited the stall, and after she rinsed her mouth at the sink he just picked her up—bodily—and headed off to the nurse's office.

She slapped at his back and shoulders, blushing to the roots of her hair, begging him to put her down.

But he persevered.

And he rather enjoyed that walk.

Even more so after they passed the art classroom, where Jessica Stanley stood at the supplies counter near the window with Lauren Mallory.

Bella caught a glimpse of Jessica's big mouth hanging open, and in the next moment, Bella's head was leaning against his shoulder and she was moaning—nearly into his neck—about how horrible the Spanish Inquisition would be during her last class of the day. She huffed and slapped his back when he chuckled at that, but settled against him a little more, probably figuring he wasn't going to put her down. Which he wasn't. He just focused on getting her to their destination, trying really hard not to think about her soft exhales, fanning across his neck and collarbones.

Bella didn't actually make it to Spanish class that day.

After Edward brought her into the nurse's office, he went back to class, finished their lab, and returned to the office. He managed to quietly and earnestly convince Mrs. Cope to excuse both of them from sixth period, so he could drop Bella off at home before he had to be at baseball practice. Her father was on duty, he explained, and Bella was probably in no condition to drive safely on her own.

Bella was completely stunned when he stepped inside the nurse's office with her backpack slung over his shoulder and told her they were excused from sixth period. He helped her up from the cot where she'd been resting, and taking her by the arm, led her out to the parking lot. He told her he'd get one of the guys to follow him after practice, so he could bring her truck home to her. She just nodded as she climbed into his car.

On the ride home she finally began demanding answers, wanting to know how he'd pulled off their early departure. And why.

They were at her front door when he slipped up, telling her he felt protective of her. Quickly he added that she was his lab partner, after all, so of course he felt responsible for her. She nodded and gave him a little smile, but it seemed forced, like maybe that wasn't the response she was hoping for. He watched her face as she fumbled with her keys before he reached out and took them from her to unlock the door.

A few minutes later he drove off with the key to her truck tucked safely into his chest pocket. He could barely contain his smile as he thought about the very last thing he'd told her before saying goodbye.

She was exactly his type, he'd said, pausing before adding…O negative.

Of course she'd rolled her eyes at him but it was too late—he'd seen the sudden little spark in her eyes and heard the little hitch in her throat. The telltale blush afterward only confirmed it: he wasn't the only one harboring a crush on a lab partner.

*I*

Even as he'd allowed his thoughts to wander into the past, Edward had kept his eyes trained on the house down near the end of the street. He'd watched people leave the white, two-story home, return to their cars, and depart. The street was nearly devoid of cars parked curbside now—only a handful remained.

He watched as a group stood on the front walkway, looking back toward the house. Phil and two others—one of them had to be Sam Uley, because no one else was that huge—slowly descended the front steps with a wheelchair-bound man between them. Billy Black, he knew, his hair gone to salt and pepper now. The third man wasn't Jacob Black, though, and Edward found himself wondering again about him, and why he wasn't here with Bella. As he watched, Phil waved before returning to the house and the group on the walkway dispersed. The man Edward hadn't recognized took the arm of an older woman, helping her to a car across the street. He realized he was looking at Sue Clearwater, and the man escorting her must be her son, Seth, now in his early-thirties.

Moments later, three more couples came out, turning back to wave toward the house. Edward recognized Ben Cheney and Angela, and her parents, the Reverend and Mrs. Weber. He watched as they said their goodbyes to an older couple. It was the Copes, Edward realized, given the woman's red hair and the fact that they headed to the house next door as the Cheneys and the Webers climbed into a van parked out front.

A few minutes after the van had driven off, Edward saw Renee and Phil Dwyer leave the house and head to a small silver car parked in the driveway. Once they left, the street was quiet, the only remaining cars parked on driveways in front of other homes.

Edward reached up, raking a hand through his hair, and then he reached forward, turning the key in the ignition.

*I*

Once Mom and Phil leave, I slip off my shoes and return to the kitchen. Everything is neat and orderly, leftovers wrapped up and put away. The house feels so still after the noise of so much company. I wonder if I should have asked Mom and Phil to stay…but no…I'll see them later for dinner at the Lodge. Maybe I should do as Mom suggested and take a nap.

I'm just thinking about going to the back door to call Fitz inside when the doorbell rings.

Heading out to the living room I shake my head, wondering what my scatterbrained mother left behind that has caused her to return so quickly. I smile as I reach for the doorknob, simultaneously looking through the peephole, out of habit.

I snatch my hand back at what I see.

Who I see.

Right there.

On my doorstep.

After all this time.

I just… I stare. I press my hand against that door and stare through that crazy fish-eye lens of the peephole.

He's there. Older. But still…so extraordinarily handsome. With his green eyes and unfamiliar scruffy beard. In his black pants, white shirt and black tie. With a black Toyota Tacoma parked behind him at the curb. I gasp when I see that truck. But then I look back at him.

He's waiting.

Well, he can damn well wait, I think.

He can wait until hell freezes over, for all I care.

I realize my heart is pounding and I'm not breathing, so I inhale, certain he hears it when I see his green eyes flicker to the peephole. He scratches at the back of his neck, studying the peephole.

Or maybe studying me.

I know that's impossible. But surely he suspects I'm standing here, watching him.

And then I see him raise his hand, to knock, and I hold my breath.

But he doesn't knock.

Instead I hear the softest of sounds, and I realize—though I can't quite see—that he's pressed his hand flat against the solid wood. Against mine. Though surely he has no idea.

He remains that way for a moment and then I see him look down. He shakes his head, just the slightest, and I hear a low oath. It's followed by a soft, slow, scraping sound as his hand slides down the door and then drops to his side.

He looks back up at the peephole for a long moment and then he finally steps back. I hear him exhale heavily and I wonder if he was holding his breath, too. He turns around and pauses, looking up the street and then down, before shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants and finally descending the porch steps.

*I*

Edward withdrew his keys from his pocket as he headed back to the truck, now parked directly in front of the Swan's house.

She was there.

He knew that for certain.

Not just in the house, but there, right there, on the other side of the door.

He'd felt it.

He'd felt _her_.

Watching him.

And silently refusing him.

Well…he'd wondered. He'd always wondered. And now he knew and he could finally quit wondering.

He was nearly back to the truck when he heard a sound from the front porch of that house.

And then he heard her.

"Edward? Wait."

* * *

**A/N: So there's that. Maybe we're getting somewhere. **


	13. Through an Open Door

Indelible

**A/N: **Thank you for the love. The tone of this chapter feels right to me. You might feel differently. I guess we'll both find out. :)

* * *

**Chapter 13: Through an Open Door**

I was reeling.

It wasn't just Edward's first unexpected appearance at the cemetery that had thrown me. His sudden disappearance when I'd fainted was equally confounding. I couldn't fathom why he had chosen to show up after all this time, only to vanish again like an apparition. But I was convinced he hadn't turned up at the funeral solely for Charlie's sake. And when he still hadn't resurfaced by the conclusion of the graveside service, I told myself he would probably come to the house.

I had begun imagining a stiff but polite conversation, buffered by the presence of others. Mike and Tyler would be friendly, Eric and Samantha would be cordial, Ben would be kind, and Jessica would ask the questions no one else dared. I tried not to dwell on what my mother might bring to the conversation. Through it all, I knew Angela would be taking mental notes, dissecting and processing everything for a later, more private discussion. And with my back-up team surrounding me, I could focus my efforts on producing appropriate responses and an air of poise.

But the longer I'd waited back at the house—sneaking occasional peeks out the front window—the less likely it seemed Edward would show himself. In time, my certainty turned to doubt and then irritation, and I chastised myself for assuming he would reappear to explain himself.

But now… Now that everyone else has left… He finally turns up on my doorstep.

My safety net is gone.

If I open that door, it will all fall to me.

It takes me a few moments to sort through my thoughts and feelings. I can't _not_ open the door. I'll forever wonder why he came and what he intended to say. I'll endlessly imagine conversations that never took place. Questions that have plagued me for years will remain unanswered and I'll always wonder why I didn't open that door, if I don't.

So I do, finally.

He's nearly to the sidewalk when I step out onto the porch and call to him.

"Edward? Wait."

He stops, spinning around abruptly to face me, and it appears I've surprised him. I catch the brief flicker of something in his face and bearing. Relief? Disbelief? I can't put my finger on it and it's already gone, quickly tamped down, replaced by something more guarded as he slides his hands into his pockets.

"You sure?" he asks, standing in place.

He doesn't ask it meanly. Nor is there the faintest trace of the cocky smirk I might have expected from his younger self. He says it doubtfully and so gently that it takes me by surprise. It also confirms what I suspected. With those two words I know he sensed me on the other side of that unopened door. He felt my indecision and hesitation toward him. And I'm not sure whether it's the words themselves, or his tone of voice, but in that moment I know he is just as uncertain as I am. And because of that, I gain a little confidence.

"Yes, I'm sure," I answer.

He withdraws his hands from his pockets and his familiar, long-legged lope carries him briskly back up the walkway. His long sleeves are casually rolled to his elbows but the tensing of muscles in his forearms betrays the fidgeting of hands at his sides. I feel better thinking he might be a bit nervous. Like me.

Looking back up to his face, I see his eyes are still focused on mine.

He slows to a stop at the foot of the steps, his part-smooth, part-scruffy face tilted up to me on the porch. There's a cautious, somehow supplicating look in his green eyes and I wonder if he thinks I might suddenly bolt like cornered prey.

We both begin speaking at the same time.

"Bella, I wasn't sure if…"

"What are you doing here, Edward?"

His mouth twitches at the awkwardness of the moment. Or my question. I think I sounded rude though I didn't intend it. Maybe I did. I'm not sure what to think or how to feel. I'm completely unprepared for this.

"I just…I wanted to tell you how very sorry I am about your dad," he says.

Oh. I nod at that.

"Thank you."

"And I wanted to make sure you were all right…" he continues, though his voice trails off as his left hand slides uncertainly back into its pocket. "It looked like you fainted earlier," he adds.

It dawns on me that he thought I was asking what he's doing at the house, rather than what he's doing in Forks, but I let it go.

"I did faint…but I'm fine now," I tell him, even though I'm not…not really. I just buried my father this morning and now I'm engaged in a stilted and strained conversation I _never_ expected to have. I'm not even close to fine.

He nods at my words and places his right hand on the railing, but he doesn't climb the steps. Maybe he needs the support of the railing because his equilibrium is off. Like mine.

"I didn't mean to impose on you at the funeral," he says. "Or now. I mean…I know everyone just left."

I blink in surprise as the meaning of his words hit me.

"You've been watching the _house_?"

His green eyes widen and the tips of his ears redden slightly. His hand lifts from the railing and retreats into his pocket once again.

"Yeah, I uh… I guess I was," he admits. "I was parked up the road, trying to decide if I should stop by or not."

"Oh." And then I'm curious. "For how long?"

"Awhile," he says. He scratches at the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "Pretty much for the whole time," he confesses quietly.

"You sat in your car, just watching the house, for two and a half_ hours_?" I can't help gaping at him and he exhales a soft, humorless snort. He nods and then shakes his head—at himself, I think. It seems he can't believe it either.

"That must sound terribly creepy but I didn't want to intrude on you and your guests," he explains. "I was just hoping for the chance to talk to you in person and apologize. I shouldn't have just showed up at your dad's funeral like I did. I should have tried to contact you beforehand…but I wasn't sure where you were living."

I nod at his explanation but his words sadden me. He's been out of touch and he now sees himself as an intruder. Even though he knew Dad, and even though he would have known many of the people at the house, he's become an outsider.

Well, he made that choice himself.

I used to imagine a multitude of scenarios and conversations and confrontations if I ever saw him again. But I never imagined a day like today. And I no longer feel very confrontational. Too much time…and life…has passed. At this point it's all water under the bridge. That ship has sailed…over the falls, downstream, and beyond the shore. I refuse to treat him as an unwelcome interloper when it's apparent he already views himself as such. I think I can be cordial. And more than anything else, his baffling presence in Forks has me curious.

"Well, I'm living here for now," I say. "Would you like to come in?"

His brow lifts and I see surprise in his eyes. I gather he didn't expect I'd extend that invitation.

"I would. If that's okay?"

"Yes," I reply.

He advances up the stairs and as he nears me, he just seems larger than life. He's a bit taller than I remembered. And I think his shoulders might be broader. He's older but that's not a detriment. He's the same and yet different with his slightly shorter hair and scruffy jaw. I knew this man intimately, I think to myself. Now, I recognize him, but I don't know him. As he steps up onto the porch a random thought occurs to me.

"I never even said hello."

His eyes soften and he shrugs dismissively.

"Hello, Bella. It's...nice to see you."

I'm not yet sure if it's nice to see him. It's certainly different.

"Hi, Edward. Come on in."

He's quiet as he passes through the open door, looking around, surveying his surroundings. It makes me see the place through his eyes and I realize not much has changed.

"Welcome to Dad's Time Capsule," I say. "Of course the flat screen TV is fairly new, and believe it or not, that plaid couch isn't the same plaid couch—though it took me three visits home to realize that myself. And the interior has been repainted—not that you'd actually notice. The only reason I know is because I helped with the painting once Dad chose the paint colors—virtually identical to the original ones."

I'm babbling and I think it sounds like I'm ridiculing my dad. My emotions float right up to the surface and I feel the sting of tears as I think about my sweet, gruff father and his silly, safe paint choices. And I think about how well Edward knew this house and the people who lived here. I blink back my tears, sniff, and head into the kitchen, clearing my throat as I go.

"Can I offer you something to drink?" I ask over my shoulder. I think my voice sounds shaky, so I try again. "You sat out in your car for over two hours. Surely you must be thirsty." Now my voice sounds unnaturally bright and forced.

Edward follows, but stops in the doorway and I can feel him watching me as he responds.

"Don't worry about me. I'm okay."

Well, that makes one of us, I think, ignoring his watchful green eyes as I scan the refrigerator and recite beverage inventory for a drink he doesn't want.

"I've got water, sodas, lemonade, iced tea, coffee, tea…"

"Really, Bella, I'm fine." His voice is soft but I think I hear a note of concern in it.

"How about coffee?" I pull out the creamer and turn to face him. "There's a half of a pot left from earlier."

His eyes are hesitant. He clears his throat. "Uh, coffee's fine… Unless... Look, Bella, would you rather I just…" He nods towards the front door. "Should I go?"

"No. Don't. It's all right." I set the creamer down on the counter. "Sometimes the dumbest memories just hit me out of nowhere. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. And memories aren't dumb," he says, walking into the kitchen. "Memories are important…or else we wouldn't remember them." He opens a cupboard and peeks in. He's chosen the right one…so he remembered…and Dad certainly never rotated the contents of the cupboards. Edward reaches up, hooking a finger through the handles of two coffee mugs and sets them gently on the counter.

I nod at his words, wondering what Edward's important memories are, but I don't ask. He's here. Maybe that says something. I grab the pot and fill our mugs, opening the drawer for spoons as I do so.

"As to your dad's paint selection, he was probably trying to avoid Redecorator's Remorse," Edward says as we doctor up our coffees. "My mom has been struck with that on occasion. Things can get really ugly." There's a hint of a smile in his voice and when I look, I see it. It's just peeking out. Tentative. Crooked. Familiar. And kind. And then his words sink in and I can't help the smile that escapes me.

"_Things can get really ugly_?" I repeat, thankful he managed to lighten the moment.

"Oh yes," he says with a small grin, rolling his eyes at some apparent decorating faux pas of Esme's.

I snort a soft laugh. Esme Cullen was always redecorating something, sometimes more proficiently than others.

"Do you want to sit on the back porch?" I ask as I put the creamer back in the refrigerator.

"Sure."

"Speaking of your mom, how is she…and your dad…are they...?" I shut my mouth before I say _still alive_ and now I feel awkward, but it's probably a fair thought for today.

"They're okay," he answers, following me to the back door. "Still living in Chicago. My dad is still working and my mom splits her time between volunteer work and trying to convince Dad to retire."

At the sound of our voices, or maybe the screen door swinging shut, Fitz starts and lifts his head with interest. He's been napping in a sun dappled spot beneath a tree on the far side of the yard. Now he stands, briskly shakes off his slumber, and runs toward us, barking, letting us know nothing gets by him—unless he's asleep on the job.

Edward smiles at my barking, semi-vigilant watchdog. The black bandana I tied around Fitz' neck earlier—his somber attire for today—is askew. His one ear is standing at attention, the other flapping and flopping with each step as he nears us.

"Should I be worried?" Edward asks as we each take a seat. He doesn't sound at all worried.

"No. He's all talk," I reply over the noise as Fitz rushes up the steps to bark at Edward and warn me about strangers.

"Fitz, hush! Quiet down. It's okay. It's okay! Come here… Come say hello to Edward."

"_Fritz_?" Edward asks, holding his coffee cup to the side in his left hand as he extends his right hand for Fitz to sniff and get acquainted.

"No, it's _Fitz_—Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Edward's sudden burst of laughter forces another smile from me. It really is a ridiculous name for this dog.

"How literary…and how unexpected," Edward says with a chuckle. Then he gives me an amused sidelong glance. "Well, maybe not." Obviously he remembers my penchant for classic romance novels.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy," he says, focusing his attention back on Fitz, petting his head and then scratching behind those mismatched ears.

Fitz wags and sidles his hind end up to Edward, seeking to make the most of a free scratch. Edward obliges, scratching Fitz' rump and haunches while Fitz looks adoringly over his shoulder. I suppose I can't blame him. I remember those big, gentle hands and long, dextrous fingers being quite adept in their endeavors. I feel the sudden warmth of a blush and I'm grateful Edward is focused on Fitz and not on me.

I study his profile—his features and the growth pattern of the scruff covering his jaw. It's such a fine masculine profile. He's always been exceptionally handsome but I think he has aged particularly well.

I tell myself to stop staring at him and manage to successfully avert my gaze to the coffee cup in my hands. But I have questions, so I get down to it.

"So…you're here in Forks… Do you live around here? Or are you just visiting? And how did you know to show up at the cemetery today?"

Edward turns. There's a trace of a lopsided smile on his lips. I know this because I'm watching his face again. It's kind of inevitable.

"Uh… Yes. No. Sort of. And I saw the obituary," he says.

I roll my eyes at my own rapid-fire questions, his succinct answers, and the twinkle of amusement I catch in his eyes.

"Would you care to elaborate?" I ask dryly.

"Sure," he says with a smile. "So... Yes, I am in Forks. But no, I don't live around here. I'm only in town until Friday morning and then I head back home—to Chicago." His expression sobers as he continues. "I saw Charlie's obituary in the paper. It really…took me by surprise. It was so unexpected. But it included the date and time for the funeral, so I decided to come today."

His words just leave me more confused about so many things.

"To the funeral? You were at the funeral, too? I thought you just came to the cemetery."

"No, I was at the funeral, too. But the church was already quite full when I got there, and I didn't want to upset…anything…so I just stood in the back, near the door, where I wouldn't attract attention. It was a very nice service for Charlie. As was your tribute to your dad, Bella. I'm sure getting up there and speaking was terribly difficult."

"It _was_ hard. I'm surprised I held it together." I turn to look at him. And then I frown, as I think about something else I wanted to know.

"Why did you just disappear at the cemetery?" I ask. "That's been bothering me all afternoon."

He seems surprised, as if the reason for his disappearance should be obvious.

"You…fainted. You didn't need me there to upset you. I knew you'd seen me, and then in the next moment, you were blacking out. I felt responsible and I was angry with myself for doing that to you."

"It wasn't just you," I tell him, shaking my head. "Of course, I was stunned, seeing you there, but I was already feeling lightheaded before I saw you. I hadn't eaten anything since the previous afternoon."

He presses his lips together, like he's not quite convinced, but I move on.

"So, you're living in Chicago now?" I ask. I'm still confused. He came all the way out to Forks for Dad's funeral? And where would he have seen the obituary in Chicago?

"Yeah, I moved to Chicago when I finished at Dartmouth. I'm not too far from where my parents are."

"Where did you read about the funeral?" I ask him. "The obituary only ran in The Forks Forum and The Peninsula Daily News."

He just looks at me for a moment, maybe weighing his answer, and then he runs his hand through his hair.

"I uh, I saw it in the Forum, online, on the day it posted—last Thursday. It was by chance, really. I already had plans in place to leave for the Pacific Northwest the next day, so I Googled Forks, and the Forum popped up. When I opened the link, there it was, on the front page. I was stunned. And it hit me hard because I knew your dad, you know?"

I nod although his last statement stings for some reason. Of course he knew my dad. But I know what he means. I felt the same way when Harry Clearwater died a few years ago.

"The obituary also mentioned you, Bella. I couldn't help wondering about you and how you were doing. I kind of wanted to see for myself, I guess."

I don't say anything to that. Instead I'm fixating on something else he said a moment ago.

"You already had plans to come out here?" I ask.

He nods.

"To Forks?"

He nods again but then he elaborates.

"Well, to Seattle, but to Forks, too."

"What's in Seattle?"

A faint smile creeps into his expression. It's not quite a smirk, but I swear to God, if he starts listing Seattle's major tourist attractions, I'm going to pinch him. He must read my thoughts and think better of it because his amusement fades.

"The University of Washington is in Seattle," he says and I realize he's answering my question. "Did you know UDub's medical school has been ranked number one in the nation for primary care, for almost two decades?"

"No, I… Why? Are you…?" I frown in confusion. I don't even know what I'm asking. Working there? Teaching there? Studying there?

"Not me." Edward shakes his head. And then he hesitates for a moment. His eyes are fixed on mine.

"I, uh… I have a son. He's going to be starting school there."

My mouth drops open and I'm suddenly doing math in my head. The last time I saw Edward was twenty years ago. He has a son? Going to medical school? So he must be…twenty? Twenty one? My gut clenches at the implication of that and I almost miss what he's saying.

"He's been on spring break this week, so we decided to make an adventure of it and drive out from Chicago. We met with an advisor at the university on Tuesday afternoon and enrolled him in a summer session class. It'll give him a head start on his freshman year."

Now he's lost me completely. Is his son a college freshman, or is he starting medical school?

"Wait… How old is your son?" I ask.

"Seventeen."

Oh. So he's a freshman. That changes things. I feel the knot in my stomach relax. But still... Holy crap. He has a seventeen year old son?

"Oh!" I blurt, staring wide-eyed at Edward as realization hits me.

"What?" he asks, his brow puckering.

"What does your son look like?"

Edward shifts and pulls his phone out of his pants pocket.

"This is him," Edward says as he pulls up a photo. "This is…Masen."

Even before I see the photo of the boy with his crooked grin, lion's mane hair, bright blue eyes, and the Hoh River in the background, I already know…

It's the boy on the bike. The boy in the coffee shop. The one who climbed into that black truck on Tuesday morning with two coffees—one for himself and one for his dad—before driving off to the University of Washington to meet with an advisor.

No wonder he looked so much like Edward.

He _is_ Edward's.

* * *

**A/N: Was it as awkward for you as it was for me, Bella, and Edward? I'd love to know what you're thinking, so don't be shy.**


	14. A Conversation in Part

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Thank you for the reviews for last chapter.

Two points of view coming up here...

* * *

**Chapter 14: A Conversation in Part**

From the moment she calls out to me, and I turn to see her standing on her father's porch, I feel like I've fallen through time. It's a page out of the past, seeing her in that same spot where she would appear to greet me when I came over or wave goodbye when I left; the stage for a multitude of hello and goodbye kisses.

But there's no friendly wave or smile now. Her arms are crossed over her body, her expression uncertain.

When I ask if she's sure, she seems momentarily taken aback but she nods and says she is.

I can't help but stare at her as I walk back to the house. She's slender still, but curvier. A woman's body has replaced the girl's. Her pretty face appears thinner to me, but maybe that's due in part to the cut of her hair. She's wearing it shorter than she used to. Her large, dark eyes stand out. They're as stunning as ever, saying so much with just a look.

When I get to the front steps I pull up short, realizing she merely said to wait; she hasn't invited me in and I certainly don't want to presume.

We both speak at once, but her words cut through, cutting me, as she asks what I'm doing here.

I feel pathetic. I just wanted to see her. I just wanted to know that she was okay. I was just wondering because I've always wondered. Even after I forfeited the right to know and even long after, when I wasn't supposed to care.

The conversation is uncomfortable and stilted. I'm mostly apologizing because I have so much to apologize for and I'm not even scratching the tip of the iceberg. It dawns on me, somewhat belatedly, that she probably could really have done without me showing up on this particular day.

And then, just when my presence here seems to be so completely beyond pathetic—after admitting to staking out her house for the entire time she's had guests—something gives. Just a little. And she invites me in.

I have to admit I'm surprised.

Stepping inside that house, I'm bowled over by what I see. It's the same. I could be coming over after school to do homework, or showing up for an early dinner with two rental video-picks in hand. I'm about to comment when Bella calls it Charlie's Time Capsule, pointing out some things that have changed, but only minimally. And suddenly she's off, heading for the kitchen, but I hear the catch in her voice and I know she's trying not to cry.

I stand in the doorway, just watching her, wishing I knew what to do, wondering what she's thinking. She's pushing beverages, possibly on the verge of losing it. My stomach is in turmoil, but I finally agree to coffee. She apologizes…for her memories…because apparently that's what's gotten the best of her. I don't say it exactly, but memories get the best of me sometimes too. I have a lot of memories that involve her—some of the best and certainly one of the worst.

I search for something to say but all I can come up with is some silly comment about my own mother's redecorating. It's enough to make her smile—the first one I've seen today—and I feel as though I've accomplished something of importance.

When we head outside to the back porch I see the old two-seat porch swing, still suspended from its chains in the corner. Images flicker through my mind of barefoot summer evenings, bowls of ice cream, sticky-sweet lips, soft voices, and warm, wandering hands.

Suddenly a dog starts barking. I didn't notice it until now, but it's making a bee-line for us across the yard. He's solid; a strong but funny-looking thing and I can see he's protective of her. I'm glad she has his company. And I'm glad for the light moment as I'm introduced to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. I suppose he could have done worse...she could have named him Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

I pet him for a moment and then I wind up scratching him for quite a few more moments and I'm glad for the brief distraction. I can feel her looking at me and I wonder what she's thinking. There's so much I want to say and ask, but I don't know how to start. I want to ask her about Charlie, but I'm afraid to broach the topic. I don't want to make her teary again on this especially tough day, so I decide to let her lead the conversation.

And she does.

She wants to know why I'm in Forks and how I knew about the funeral, so I tell her about seeing the obituary back in Chicago. I don't mention my curiosity concerning the absence of her married name in that obituary, and for the first time I wonder to myself if I would have come if Charlie Swan had been survived by Isabella Black.

I haven't asked her about _him_, but I've seen no evidence of him here today. Not at the service, not here at the house, and not on the ring finger of her left hand. Her pale, slim fingers are all bare. It seems unlikely she would forego a wedding band if she were still married to him. In my experience, a married woman only does that when she's toying with options and planning to bail.

She's surprised I was there for the service, and I admit I hid in the back, unwilling to call attention to myself. That was probably a good thing, I think but don't say. It was bad enough my presence at the cemetery led to her fainting—although she says it didn't. The timing of it tells me otherwise.

We finally come back around to what I'm doing in Forks and I mention Seattle—the real reason I'm out here. And then I mention the university and its medical school and I abruptly realize she thinks I'm talking about myself, so I tell her about Masen, and I explain our trip, adding that it's his freshman year.

I'm a little surprised when she suddenly asks what he looks like, but I simply take my phone from my pocket, pull up the photo he had texted me earlier, and hand it over as I watch her face for clues.

*I*

I'm just sitting here, looking at the photo on the screen, staring at a younger, almost-Edward. I have so many questions and I have comments, too, but I can't decide how or where to start. And Edward is waiting—undoubtedly curious as to why I asked what his son looks like.

"He looks so much like you," I say, starting with the obvious, although my mind is thinking about the less obvious—the ways in which he doesn't look like Edward—the ways in which he must look like his mother.

"Yeah, we get that a lot." Edward nods, acknowledging my comment with a little smile as I hand his phone back to him.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and then raises his coffee cup to his lips, reminding me I have a neglected cup of my own. I do the same as I ponder the "we" is in his response. The two of them? The _three_ of them? Or maybe there's a whole collection of them…an entire family of those elusive Chicago Cullens.

When he sets his cup back down I notice a gold band on the inside of the ring finger of his left hand.

"Why did you ask what he looks like?" he asks, distracting me from my ring scrutiny. I glance away quickly, hoping he didn't notice.

"Oh. I saw him. Two times, actually. He reminded me of you." I take another sip of coffee. It's tepid now. When I glance back, Edward's fingers are laced together in his lap, ring hidden from sight.

"Oh, yeah? Where'd you see him?"

I doubt he wants to hear that I nearly ran his son over, so I edit.

"On Monday afternoon I was stopped at an intersection when he darted across the street on a bike. I think he was trying to beat the rain."

"Yeah, he tried, but he wasn't very successful," Edward says with an amused snort.

"So, where else did you see him?" he inquires after a moment.

"In the coffee shop on Main Street on Tuesday morning…" His brows lift as I speak.

"You were there? At The Hut?"

I nod. "Yeah, but it's not The Coffee Hut anymore. It's The Cup and Saucer now. Oh! You don't know this… Angela owns it now."

"Angela Weber?" he asks in surprise.

"Yeah…well, Angela _Cheney_."

"Oh, right. Angela and Ben…" His voice fades. His smile fades to something more somber too. "I saw them earlier… Well, you know…just from a distance. So you and Angela are still close?"

"Oh, yeah. Angela has always been there for me. She's the best friend you could ask for. And Ben's great too. Well, you know what they're like."

Edward nods, his mouth curving into a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

I realize my words sounded like a petty dig. Of course Angela _has_ always been there for me—through all the low points—but saying Edward _knows_ what they're like, when he hasn't seen them in years, must have seemed unkind.

I look down at my lap as a random image flits through my mind—the four of us as teenagers, bowling at Sunset Lanes, laughing our butts off at how inept Angela and I were. When I look back up, Edward seems far away and I wonder where his thoughts have gone. I continue talking, filling in the gap, filling him in on the lives of people who were once his friends.

"Reverend Weber still performs services…like he did for Dad today, but Ben is the Pastor at the Community Church now. Ben and Angela have two kids—Andy is thirteen and Beth just turned eleven. Anyway, Angela bought that old coffee shop a few years ago and she just expanded—remember Dawson's Shoe Repair next door?" I pause, wondering if Edward is keeping up with my scattered overview, but he nods. "Well, it went out of business and Angela bought it. The space is part of The Cup and Saucer now—a cozy room to read, work and linger over coffee and baked goods."

"Huh. I had no idea."

I almost say, 'Well, of course you didn't,' but I bite my tongue because I'm going for cordial, not snappish.

"Anyway, that's where I saw him…your son…I was going in as he was coming out."

I suddenly recall what I thought was a fleeting spark of recognition in his son's eyes in that moment, but I don't mention that.

I also don't mention that I gawked after him from inside the shop as he walked to the black truck parked up the street. The same black truck that's parked out in front of the house now. I don't want Edward under the impression I was checking out his seventeen year old son's backside—though it was a lot like Edward's seventeen year old backside.

Okay, so I couldn't help noticing and now I feel like a complete pervert.

I lean down and pet Fitz. Hopefully Edward won't catch my embarrassment.

"I was just up the street," he muses, oblivious to my blush, thankfully. "I was sitting in the truck, checking the traffic on my phone. If I'd gone in with him I would have seen you. I could have talked to you then." He looks at me as I sit back up, blush under control.

"We're talking now," I say with a shrug.

"Yeah." He smiles. "I guess we were kind of in a hurry, anyway. We were on our way to Seattle, to meet with his advisor later that afternoon and then spend the day there. We just stopped to pick up coffees and breakfast for the road." I just nod. I'd figured as much already.

"So, the University of Washington. Good old UDub," I say. But it's bothering me. "Why, of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, is he going to school at my school?"

Edward exhales a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corner at my lame Casablanca reference.

"It was his first pick gin joint," he says.

"Not Dartmouth, like his dad?" I can't hide my surprise.

"And his grandfather…and his great-grandfather…" Edward completes the thought. He shakes his head. It seems more disparaging than a simple no in response to my question, but I sense it isn't directed toward me.

"No. I left it completely up to him to decide. I wasn't going to push anything on him—though if he'd wanted to go to Dartmouth for his undergrad that would have been fine with me, too. But UDub has a great pre-med program and their med school has ranked higher than Dartmouth's for the past two decades for what he's looking to do."

"Really?"

"Yep."

"You bucked the system," I surmise. I can't help smiling a little at that.

He nods. And then he snorts.

"I did. You have _no_ idea." He shakes his head at some thought but doesn't elaborate, so I guess I'll continue to have no idea—maybe that's what he wants. We're dancing around talking about ourselves, but it's easier to talk about others, and maybe we'll get to us eventually.

"So your son is planning on becoming a chip off the old block? Or _blocks_…should I say? He wants to be a doctor like his father and grandfather?"

Edward smiles. It's an odd smile. It seems rueful at first, but then I notice something akin to satisfaction lurking in there.

"Actually, that skipped a generation," he says. "I went through a rebellious phase and wound up going into law."

I stare at him. He's a lawyer? I thought he was supposed to become a doctor.

"So you didn't…?"

"Follow in my father's footsteps?" he finishes for me. "No, I didn't. I've tried hard not to. I became quite the system-bucker over time. But my son wants to pursue a career in medicine. He'd like to become a general practitioner, and U-Dub's med school ranks highest in the nation for primary care physicians."

"What happened?" I ask, and I think it's obvious I'm asking about him, not his son or his father.

He looks away, out over the backyard, though I'm sure he's not taking in the state of the lawn that needs mowing or the toolshed that needs painting. He leans forward, elbows resting on his thighs, his hands clasped and fidgeting together between his knees.

He finally turns his head to look at me and shrugs.

"Oh, you know… Shit happened."

I nod, shit does happen. I'll attest to that. But I'm unclear as to his specific shit, so I ask for clarification.

"What kind of shit happened?" I see his lips twitch, like he's tempted to smile at my question, but then it's gone and he just shakes his head.

"Shit of my own making, primarily," he says.

"That doesn't give me much to go on," I tell him. I pick up my coffee and take a drink. It's completely cold now and tastes terrible.

He sits up, his hands sliding over the tops of his thighs. The ring I noticed earlier isn't a band. It has no stone but something is etched on its face. I look back up at Edward. Plenty is etched on his face as well and I decide to wait him out.

After a moment, he sighs.

"After you and I…" He stops, frowning, and I sense he's changing tack. "After my parents moved to Chicago…" He pauses again. "I had a really rough time. It was…abysmal. I just…fucked up. Spectacularly."

I school my features as I clench my coffee cup in my hands. I know if I don't hang onto it I just might be tempted to reach out and slap him. He was about to say 'after you and I broke up.' I'm certain of it. But _we_ didn't break up. _He_ did. And now I'm supposed to feel sorry? Because he had a shitty year?

No.

Cordial has left the station and snappish is just pulling in.

"Really? You had a rough time, Edward? Well, I'd have to say that year didn't earn high marks with me either." I stand, tossing what remains of my coffee over the railing and into the planter below. "If you'll excuse me for a moment…"

I can't even look at him. I might start yelling. Instead I head for the back door with my empty cup in hand and for some reason, Fitz lurches to his feet and joins me, marching right along at my heels. As I pause to let him go ahead of me I notice Edward's reflection in the window, his hand raking through his hair as he sits hunched over, shaking his head.

"Yeah…you and me, both," I mumble to myself as I let the door slam behind me.

I stand at the sink as anger and resentment seethe within me. Rinsing out my mug for what must be an inordinately long time, I suddenly realize he's there, behind me, standing just inside the doorway. I can feel his eyes on my back, watching me. And finally he speaks, his voice low.

"Bella, I wasn't saying… I didn't mean to imply that you didn't have a hard time of it too…"

I grip the edge of the counter on the side of the sink. It's the new cordial. It's certainly more cordial than taking the coffee mug I just spent so much time rinsing out and just chucking it at him. I throw his words back at him instead.

"A hard time, Edward?! No, it wasn't a _hard time_. It was… Let me see if I can pinpoint the right term…" I turn to face him as I snap my fingers—as if it suddenly comes to me. "I've got it. It was _abysmal! _I was devastated by what you did!"

I'm glaring at him now and he seems completely shocked. Good. It feels good to let him know how I felt—to finally unload this, even after all this time. And I keep right on going because I'm on a roll now.

"You just ended everything abruptly and disappeared! You...discarded me!"

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open.

"That's not what I did!" he says adamantly, shaking his head and staring at me in confusion.

"That's how it felt!" I yell.

"Bella…it was such an unfair thing to ask of you...for you to wait for me for who knew how long. And then to keep putting you through that? I hated the thought of making you cry again and again and again."

"Well, I did cry, Edward. I cried for months! Months! And all I kept thinking was, surely there must have been someone else at school; someone you wanted to see. You were ready to move on."

His mouth drops open once again. His hand winds up into his hair, fingers raking through it as he speaks.

"That wasn't the case at all! I told you that, that morning. I loved you, Bella. I didn't stop loving you. But I couldn't stand hurting you repeatedly and I thought…I thought it would be better if I just…_stopped_ hurting you. There wasn't anyone else. I didn't want anyone else. I couldn't even bring myself to get involved with anyone else for over two years after that. But you…"

He stops. And clamps his mouth shut. And I can see his jaw working beneath the growth of scruff.

"I what?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

He shrugs, shaking his head. He doesn't want to say whatever he was about to say.

"I what?" I repeat.

There's a sudden noise. It's his phone. He fishes it out of his pocket as it continues ringing.

"Hang on. I'm sorry. I've got to take this," he says to me as he lifts the phone to his ear, abruptly derailing my demand and my…airing of ancient grievances.

"Hey. What's up?" I watch his face as he listens, his brow furrowing in concern. After a moment, he rolls his eyes and then lifts his free hand to rub at his forehead.

"Where are you now?" he asks. He nods to himself as he listens, though his eyes absently wander to mine.

"Okay," he says into the phone. "Don't worry about it. I'll come get you and we'll get it taken care of. See you in a few."

He sighs, looking at me as he pockets his phone once again.

"His bike's got a flat tire and he's a couple miles outside of town. I've got to go pick him up."

I nod in understanding, but then I remember I was waiting for him to finish what he was saying.

"Wait. What were you going to say? You said you didn't get involved with anyone for over two years after that, but I… I what? Say it."

He sighs, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"You managed to move on, Bella. You were with Jacob in less than a year."

Now it's _my_ mouth that drops open. I stare at him. I don't know what to say. He's right. But I'm surprised he knew and I don't know how he knew or what he expects me to say.

"I've got to go," he says quietly. "My son's waiting."

I nod. It all feels terribly abrupt and awkward as we walk out to the living room. But this is probably for the best.

"I, uh… Thanks for the coffee," he says as we get to the front door. "And for…you know, letting me…see you."

"Yeah. Sure." I nod, crossing my arms over my chest once again.

He steps out onto the front porch but he hesitates and then he turns to face me, exhaling heavily.

"I… Look, this feels really… I don't want to leave things like this, Bella," he says. "You've probably been through enough for today, but would you like to meet me for coffee tomorrow morning? Or lunch, maybe?"

"Oh." I blink at him. And then I shake my head. "I can't. Mom and Phil are heading back to Florida tomorrow. They have a noon flight out of Port Angeles and we'll probably eat before that."

He nods and looks down. After a moment he looks back up, his head cocked to the side.

"Dinner?" he asks, hopeful and doubtful all at once.

I hug myself more tightly.

"I don't think so, Edward. But thank you...for asking."

He nods once again. I see the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows.

"Okay," he murmurs. And then he shifts, his hand sliding into his back pocket, retrieving his wallet. He opens it and pulls out a small white business card.

"If things change…if you change your mind…my cell number is on there." He nods toward the card as he hands it to me. I take it. Knowing I won't call. What would be the point? He's going back to Chicago the day after tomorrow, and then it will be as if he'd never been here at all.

He takes a deep breath. "Well, if I don't hear from you…take care, Bella."

I nod at him. "You, too, Edward."

I watch as he turns and heads down the steps and front walkway, out to the truck parked on the street. As he rounds the front end he looks over, his eyes finding mine once again. And then he climbs inside that truck.

*I*

I watch her as I start the engine and pull away from the curb. Just like earlier, there's no friendly wave or smile like there used to be. Her arms are crossed over her body once again and I can't bring myself to wave or smile either. I'll just be too crushed when she doesn't respond.

* * *

**A/N: Hang in there. Review if you would.**


	15. View of a Visit

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Your feedback keeps me at it when the chapters don't write themselves easily or quickly, so thank you.

* * *

**Chapter 15: View of a Visit**

When he drives away I wonder if he'll wave. But he doesn't. And I don't either. It feels final, although it feels incomplete and rather unsettled. Or maybe unsettling.

Back inside the house I sit down in Dad's recliner and I replay Edward's entire visit. I'm mad but I don't know if I'm mad at him or at myself.

I stare at his business card, lying on the coffee table in front of me and after a few moments I finally reach for my cell phone.

"You'll never guess what happened after everyone left," I say when Angela answers my call.

She doesn't miss a beat.

"Oh, gosh. He showed up after we left you all alone?"

"He sure did," I confirm.

"Wow. So you talked to him? What's he doing in Forks? Why didn't he stop by the house sooner? And what was with the disappearing act earlier? I probably sound just like your mother, but tell me everything that happened."

Of course I tell her everything. It's why I've called. I need to unload, rehash, and pick it all apart with a fine-toothed comb. Or a best friend. So I cover everything from Edward's first near-departure, right up through his final actual departure and every semi-comfortable and ultra-uncomfortable moment in between.

Angela is as good a listener as she is a best friend. Aside from occasional mild interjections, she reserves comment until I've given her the full report. When I finish she huffs a slow exhale, as if the whole encounter has left her as wrung out as I feel.

"Wow. That was kind of a bumpy ride…and certainly very rough at the end there," she says.

"Yeah. It wasn't my favorite conversation ever. I just…I don't know what to think about it all, you know?"

"Well, I think it's good you didn't fling your coffee cup at him, but you had every right to tell him how you felt when he left like he did."

I nod. Then I realize she can't see me over the phone. "Yeah. Only it didn't feel as cathartic as I would have imagined."

"That's understandable. Giving vent to pent-up frustration, hurt, and anger doesn't always feel completely satisfying afterwards. You sometimes second-guess yourself and wonder if you said too much or too little or if you said it all well enough. And maybe you wonder if you _heard_ everything you were meant to hear, you know? Because maybe that other person didn't say everything they needed to say or say it well enough. Does that make sense?"

"It does. And you hit the nail on the head. I've been sitting here thinking of what I said and how I said it and I _am_ wondering what else Edward would have said if he'd had the chance."

"It's hard when strong emotions kick in and you've certainly had an emotion-packed day as it is. At least now you know why there's a kid wandering around Forks who looks like Edward."

"I did get that cleared up," I admit dryly.

"It's too bad you didn't also get his status cleared up," she muses.

I have to admit I'm confused.

"His son's?" I ask.

"No, Swan. I'm willing to bet the farm that the seventeen-year-old son is single. I'm wondering about Edward. I wish we knew if the 'we' he referred to meant him and his son, or if it included a wife."

"Yeah…I don't know, but I'll admit I was curious about that too." I still am curious, I suppose, but I don't tell her that. I'm just curious for curiosity's sake, naturally.

"I guess that would have been too weird to ask," she says.

"It would have been_ waaay_ too weird, Angela. And it's not my business, so it doesn't really matter."

She hesitates before replying. "I think maybe it does matter, Bella."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, no man tracks down a former girlfriend he hasn't spoken to in years if he's happily married. And that ring you described… it _could_ be a wedding ring…though it doesn't really sound like one…"

"Awesome. So you think Edward is either unhappily married, hoping to strike up an illicit affair with me for the next day and a half, or he's unmarried and he showed up to rekindle a long-distance romance after a brief, twenty year hiatus?"

Angela laughs. "No. I think neither of the above. It was just stream-of-consciousness thinking out loud. I don't have any answers. But I'm sure Edward does. If you want answers maybe you should call him. Here's your chance to finally bring real closure to that whole experience. Or…"

I'm looking at that business card on the table. Sort of frowning at it. And it takes me a moment to realize Angela left her thought hanging.

"Or what?" I ask.

"Or…maybe here's your chance to leave things…open."

"Open?" I'm confused until it sinks in where she's probably going with this. "He lives in Chicago, Angela."

"I know. Calm down. And don't roll your eyes at me. "

She can't see me, but she knows me.

"I just mean… There's more to him coming to Charlie's funeral than him just wanting to pay respects to your dad. He told you the obituary mentioned you and it made him wonder about you and how you were doing. I think that sounds like more than just idle curiosity. I mean, he was hoping to see you and talk to you, but he wanted to do that privately. He didn't just blithely waltz into Forks, oblivious to how his appearance might affect you. The fact that he was hesitant and didn't want to disrupt anything by showing himself sooner, makes me think he was truly concerned about how you would feel and he didn't want to upset you."

I turn her words over in my mind. And Edward's own words.

"He did say that, for the most part, but I guess I still thought he was maybe trying to avoid everyone more for his own sake than mine," I tell her.

"The Edward Cullen we knew wasn't shy or timid," she reminds me. "I don't imagine that's changed."

"No. You're right."

Her comment about the Edward we knew reminds me how long it's been since we've pored over the Break-up Debacle.

I remember Angela and Alice both being there for me in the aftermath, and both of them being equally as stunned as I was. I also remember how hard it was to be around them that summer when Ben and Jasper returned to Forks from college…and Edward didn't. But life gradually and eventually moved on after Edward moved away. And although Edward has occasionally come up in conversations with Angela throughout the years, rehashing the whole break-up hasn't. Not for an incredibly long time. But I'm curious about her take on things now, as an adult, especially given Edward's unexpected reappearance after all this time.

"You know, I've never really been able to reconcile my thoughts about him," I say.

"What do you mean?"

"It's like there are two different Edward Cullens in my past. There's the Edward I fell in love with and dated for two years—the perfect boy who was loving, attentive, and thoughtful. And then there's the Edward who pulled the rug out from under me—the boy who left and never looked back. They seem like two completely different people."

"Courtly Edward and Edward The Beast?" I can hear the little smile in her voice.

"That sounds like a Disney feature-length cartoon. But, yeah, something along those lines."

"Well…the Pastor's wife and Reverend's daughter in me is inclined to look for the good in people, but I always believed Edward was a good person. I'm sure breaking up with you wasn't something he did cavalierly, though it might have been terribly misguided on his part to think he was doing the right thing by you. But it's not until you get older that you realize how little you knew when you were young, and thought you knew everything."

"A little age does bring a little clarity, doesn't it?"

"Definitely," she agrees. "In a few decades, if we're lucky, we'll all be geniuses."

I laugh at her optimism.

"Anyway, getting back to what I was saying, Bella… I don't think Edward was a beast. I just think he was a conflicted and overwhelmed nineteen year-old boy who'd had the rug pulled out from under _him_ as well. He must have felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. He had a very controlling father with ridiculously high expectations. At the same time, Edward must have been despairing over the additional hardship his family's move would place on your long-distance relationship. You know Carlisle Cullen wasn't going to ship Edward off to Forks every school break that came up. And there's no way of knowing if things would have worked out between you with even more time spent apart, but most long-distance relationships don't survive, for many reasons. Obviously Edward must have thought he was doing the right thing but I'm sure he wasn't oblivious to the heartbreak he was causing you; no one is that obtuse. And I'm sure he hurt himself, too, with his choice."

I think back to that morning, waking up to Edward wrapped around me, his departure and move blissfully forgotten…until I opened my eyes to see despondent, red-rimmed, watery green eyes looking back at me. I think of his voice—husky and low and thick with emotion—telling me the decision he'd reached while I'd slept. And I know Angela is right—Edward was a wreck.

"From what he said to you today," Angela continues, "It sounds like he grieved the loss of your relationship afterward. Who knows…maybe he took it even harder than you, knowing that was all on him. He must have had at least some feelings of guilt, don't you think?"

It's not something I've ever considered until this moment, but I realize it's entirely possible.

"So after twenty years he decides to show up in Forks to…what? Apologize? Ask for forgiveness?"

"I don't know, Swan, I'm just throwing things out he's only human, so it's a possibility. And forgiveness is a good thing. It can be very…liberating."

I know she means it would be liberating for me. She knows my life moved on, but she also knows that first love, and the way it ended, left an indelible mark on me.

"I know. I get that. I do." I tell her. "But even if that is the case, why would he have waited all this time?"

"Good question. And I don't have an answer. But it seems like your dad's funeral gave him the opportunity. Or maybe the impetus. Maybe it reminded him we all have a shelf-life. At least give him credit for trying to get in touch, for whatever reason, because approaching you after all this time had to have been somewhat daunting."

"You're right. It can't have been easy. I could see he was…hesitant…and nervous. And I certainly didn't welcome him with open arms—I very nearly didn't welcome him at all."

We're both quiet for a moment, mulling things over. Finally Angela speaks up again.

"The thing I find curious is that he knew you'd started seeing Jake nearly a full year later—and that he specifically mentioned that time frame."

I nod at her words. I'd nearly forgotten that point. "Yeah, that caught me by surprise. I wondered about it but then I didn't get the chance to ask. His son had already called by then and he had to leave."

"Edward must have kept track of you. At least to some extent," Angela guesses. "You had every right to date someone else after he'd broken things off with you, but given the way he mentioned it, it sounds like he was hurt you'd moved on. Or maybe it was more a case of _who_ you'd moved on _with_."

"Yeah, maybe. He and Jake never really got on that well. But that still doesn't really make a lot of sense. Edward was the one who pulled the plug, and the one who didn't care enough to try to stay in contact afterward, so why would he have felt hurt that I'd started seeing Jacob a year later?"

"That's just one more thing we'll never know. Unless you ask, of course. And surely there are things Edward must have wanted to know. Maybe you should think about giving him a call tomorrow after your mom and Phil leave. Hear what else he has to say. Get a few more answers and say whatever else you need to say. What have you got to lose?"

"Maybe. I think I'll sleep on it tonight and I'll see how I feel tomorrow. But thank you for listening and for sharing your thoughts with me."

"Of course. And if you do talk to him, I expect to be the first one you call immediately afterwards."

"Of course. I wouldn't dream of calling anyone else."

We chat for a few more minutes. When she mentions the new chicken recipe she's trying for dinner tonight it reminds me I'm dining out with Mom and Phil. I tell her we're heading to the The Lodge for dinner later and she says we have to try their smoked salmon dip, but she warns me to avoid the shrimp pesto pasta at all costs. Apparently Ben had it last time they were there and reeked of garlic for days afterward. I laugh, assuring her the evening will be shrimp-pesto-pasta-free.

When I get off the phone I realize I never got around to taking a nap like Mom suggested. I am rather tired, but it's too late in the afternoon for that now. I have plenty of time for a shower though and I'm hopeful that will perk me up a little before Mom and Phil swing by to get me.

*I*

When we're seated in the restaurant I'm already contemplating a glass of wine, but when Mom orders her dirty martini I decide I've earned one as well today. Phil gets his usual Jack and Coke and then kindly offers up a respectful toast to Dad after the waitress returns with our drinks.

We spend a few minutes looking over the menu and debating the choices. We're in agreement on the dip Angela recommended, and Mom chooses the tarragon chicken while Phil opts for the New York steak. I'm undecided but finally settle on a bowl of clam chowder and a side salad. Mom doesn't think that's enough. She thinks I look too thin. So she begins suggesting every single dinner entrée, burger combo, and "favorite" item on the menu—as if I can't read the menu for myself. I promise her I'll order a dessert to boost my caloric intake and then she won't have to worry about me wasting away. Mom smiles, finally placated, and I roll my eyes at Phil, who just sits there chuckling.

Over dinner we reflect on the service at the church and cemetery this morning, as well as the gathering at the house. We share comments and tidbits of conversations we heard from friends and acquaintances of Dad's and mine. Mom and Phil don't recall many names but they describe people well enough that I know who said what.

I don't mention either of Edward's appearances today. That would just encourage a fact-finding mission from Mom that I would be ill-equipped to handle. My thoughts drift to some of Angela's observations and interpretations, though. And to Edward. And to that business card.

For dessert I choose the lavender crème brulee. It sounds restful. Phil orders the deep dish apple pie and asks for two scoops of vanilla bean ice cream on top. Mom merely requests an extra fork, saying they'll share. I offer her some of my dessert, but she pats my hand and says she'd rather not cut into my caloric boost. Then she smiles and says Phil's caloric boost is fair game because he ordered two desserts and she doesn't want a tubby hubby. I look across the table at Phil and now I'm the one chuckling.

By the time they drop me off back at the house, it's almost eight thirty and I'm fading fast. We make plans for the morning and say our goodnights and Mom and Phil head back to their bed and breakfast.

I let Fitz out into the backyard to do his business while I stand at the back door, watching and yawning. Upon his return he gets a chicken cookie for being prompt about his business and then it's lock-up, lights out, and up to bed we go.

For as tired as I am, I lie in bed thinking for a good long while. I find it hard to shut down after the events of this particular day but eventually I doze off and the next thing I know, it's Thursday morning.

*I*

I meet Mom and Phil at the diner for an early breakfast and we squeeze in the last of our visit over pancakes, eggs and bacon. I tell Mom I'll keep her posted on tying up Dad's affairs and I promise them both I'll visit sometime in the summer. In the parking lot we say our goodbyes and exchange hugs and then I wave as they depart in their rental car, headed for the airport in Port Angeles.

Back at the house I park in the garage and head inside. It's another pretty spring day so I let Fitz out into the backyard. I watch him for a minute as he patrols the perimeter and pees on things he must have neglected to pee on earlier this morning.

I finally close the door, thinking about what I need to do today and I come up blank.

Although there is that business card to consider.

It's on the kitchen counter now, not too far from the phone.

I walk over and pick it up and look at it.

And then I set it back down, a little farther away from the phone.

I walk out of the kitchen and stand in the living room for a moment, and then I return and look at Edward's card once again.

Then I decide maybe I need to pee.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror as I wash my hands afterwards. Then I decide to brush my teeth again while I'm there. And then I brush my hair.

When I return to the kitchen, the card is still there on the counter.

I slide it over, closer to the phone.

And then I pick up the phone.

Fitz starts barking out in the yard and I immediately set the phone back down. Maybe it's a sign I'm not supposed to call.

The barking continues and I can tell Fitz is getting closer, until he's just below the side window next to the kitchen table. He's at his post where he can see the street beyond the chain link fence and he's still barking.

I walk past the table, reaching out to move the sheer curtain aside so I can open the window and tell Fitz to knock it off.

But then I jerk my hand back.

Because…it's Edward. In worn jeans and a white T-shirt. And he's walking right up to the side gate.

"What the…?"

Maybe this is a sign that I _was_ supposed to call him? Or maybe it's a sign to call the police, because what the heck is he doing here and why didn't he come to the front door?

I quickly step back so he can't see me in the dark kitchen, though I can still watch him through the sheers, and that's exactly what I'm doing.

He's talking to Fitz and the barking slows and then ceases as Edward gingerly reaches his hand over the fence for Fitz to take a whiff.

Fitz wags, obviously remembering the scent of the kindly butt scratcher from yesterday.

Edward continues talking in a low voice—though I can't hear precise words. He tries to lift the latch on the fence gate but there's a lock on it. He pulls his hand back and scratches his head. He finally places both hands on the top of the fence rail and abruptly hoists himself up, the muscles in his arms in sudden high-definition. He swings a leg up, plants a foot on the top of the rail, and neatly vaults the fence.

I'm impressed. He's thirty nine but he did that with the ease of the teenaged boy he used to be.

Fitz is also impressed. He's barking and wagging simultaneously, giving Edward a standing ovation. Or maybe he's just thrilled the butt scratcher came to play.

I watch as Edward pets Fitz for a moment—and scratches his butt—and then Fitz happily follows Edward into the backyard and out of my line of sight.

Some watchdog he is.

I'm completely baffled as to what this is. And why he's here. Especially since I didn't call.

I move to the back door and reach for the knob, but then I pull back and decide to just watch and see what he does next. I'm back far enough that I don't think he can spot me through the screen and backdoor window. I feel a bit foolish. Then I remember Edward watched the house yesterday for over two hours, so I'm well within my rights to watch him for a few minutes.

Edward bends and picks up a tennis ball and lobs it into the far corner of the yard. Fitz is off like a shot. Once he fetches the ball, he speeds straight for Edward, darting off to the side at the last minute. He doubles back and does it again. I can hear Edward's laughter and I realize I'm smiling as well. Finally Edward squats down, motions for the ball, and waits patiently until Fitz drops it at his feet. I chuckle to myself as he picks the ball up with two fingers and a grimace. He's got to be dealing with some serious dog slobber. Then he stands and throws the ball again and the whole routine is repeated.

I reach out, finally opening the door a bit. I do it quietly and I know Edward didn't hear it because he turns and heads farther out into the yard. Standing just inside the screen now, I watch as he nears the shed in the far corner and stops. He reaches up, running his fingertips along the lip above the door until he finds what he's looking for. He takes the key, unlocks the padlock, opens the door, and disappears inside.

"What the heck are you doing?" I murmur.

Fitz must wonder the same because he trots over to investigate.

Just as Edward backs out of the shed.

Wheeling the lawnmower out with him.

My mouth drops open.

A second later I gasp and slap my hand over my open mouth.

I can tell by Edward's well-chosen expletive and body language that he's stepped directly on a Fitz-bomb—because he's examining the underside of his right shoe. I pooper-scooped the yard on Monday, and Fitz is always good about using the facilities at the back of the yard, but of course, that's where the shed is.

Edward looks from his shoe to Fitz. "You couldn't have said something?!" he hollers.

Fitz responds with three barks and a wag.

"Well, it's a little late now!" Edward yells back.

And I'm giggling.

And I can feel my heart start to soften.

Poor Edward. He's come to see me. He wants to talk to me. And he's been stepping in shit, both literally and figuratively, since he got here. But he seems rather determined because he keeps turning up.

I decide this is enough of a sign. It's time to continue a conversation. And maybe do a little yard work at the same time. Because apparently I'm not the only one who thinks the lawn could use it.

So I open the screen door and head outside to find out more about the boy I used to know.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked Angela's take on things. And of course I'd like to hear your thoughts.**


	16. Caught and Catching Up

**Indelible**

**A/N**: If you review, I will reply! :)

* * *

**Chapter 16: Caught and Catching Up**

That funny-looking dog of hers is wagging his tail and I swear there's a smile on his face. He looks like he's proud of himself. I guess I can't blame him. I should have figured where there's a dog, there's bound to be dog crap.

I sigh and look back down at my shoe, uncertain about scraping it off into the grass I'm about to mow.

"Edward? Hello?"

I whip my head up at the unexpected sound of her voice and there she is, standing on the porch as the door closes behind her. I'm startled—caught off guard and caught in the act—because she wasn't supposed to be here.

"Bella. You're _here_?" Instead of saying something intelligent, stupidity flows from my mouth. Even at this distance I can see the blank look on her face. It's clear she's here, yet I'm asking?

"I mean obviously you _are_ here," I state more firmly, and then I roll my eyes at the profundity of that observation.

"Yes, I'm…here…" she responds uncertainly, probably doubting my mental acuity.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

I realize that should probably be her question to me, not mine to her, but I'm just so flustered to see her. Apparently she's flustered to see me as well, because there's a pucker of confusion between her brows as she crosses the porch to the top step.

"I…live here?" she replies, even more uncertainly than a moment ago.

"You don't sound too convinced," I observe, stifling a smile as a tiny wave of nostalgia flickers through me for the shy girl who would say unexpected, endearing, sometimes unintentionally amusing things, making me wonder at the inner workings of her mind.

She doesn't respond to my comment however, she just looks at me curiously as she starts down the steps.

I clear my throat and take a more serious tone. "What I meant was… Weren't you supposed to be taking your mom and stepdad to the airport in Port Angeles this morning? I figured you wouldn't be back until sometime this afternoon."

"Oh...um..."

She hesitates on the bottom step, like she's deliberating about what she's going to say.

"No, I didn't have to take them. They had a rental car they'd picked up at the airport when they first arrived, so we actually just met for breakfast before they drove themselves back to Port Angeles."

"Oh… I see." I nod, looking down as understanding hits me square in the chest.

Yesterday ended poorly between us, but I was really hoping for another chance to see her. I knew dinner was probably out of the question, but when she declined my invitation for coffee or lunch, she implied she'd be too busy with her mom and stepdad. Now it's painfully clear she wanted nothing more to do with me and simply said that in an effort to be civil. So I'm left feeling like an absolute idiot—caught on the brink of my pathetic gesture. I just want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

At the sound of her approaching footsteps in the grass, I glance up to see her chewing on her lip as she nears me.

"I, um… I was actually just about to call you, Edward."

Her words surprise me, but I can't help feeling skeptical of her claim.

"I really was." She nods for emphasis. "Your card is lying right next to the phone in the kitchen," she says earnestly. "In fact, I'd just picked up the phone to call when Fitz started barking at the side gate. And when I looked out…" Her words falter and she looks down as a sudden blush infuses her features.

I wait, but not for long. She takes a deep breath and seems to reach some sort of decision.

"When I looked out the window…" she continues, still avoiding my eyes, "There you were…chatting with Fitz…and hopping the fence…and playing with him in the yard…" Her voice trails away but I barely notice.

She's been watching me this whole time?

I'm stunned. I'm also relieved. She saw me but she didn't come out and yell at me to get the hell out of her yard.

She finally peeks back up, her face still flushed because she gave herself away. It's one of those moments—her awkward admission so typical of the sweet and funny girl I knew.

"Oh," I simply say, not wanting to embarrass her further. I suppress my smile though I think it might still be there in my eyes.

"So, yeah…" She nods. She knows I've worked it out. "Anyway…" she continues, "It would have been redundant to call and see if you wanted to stop by or something…you know…since you were already here."

"Well, I'm really glad you were thinking about calling. I'd hoped you'd maybe change your mind. I didn't mean to upset you yesterday, Bella, and I didn't like the way we left things."

She shakes her head. "No. I didn't either," she agrees.

We look at each other for a moment, until her gaze drops, landing on the lawnmower.

"So, what are _you_ doing here?" she asks, seemingly grateful for the distraction. "You…figured I wouldn't be home…so you came by to…_mow the lawn?_" Her brows knit in incomprehension as she looks up at me, and I have to admit, it does sound like the plan of a lunatic.

"I wanted to do something. For you. And for your dad, you know? Until yesterday, I didn't know where you were living, so I never sent flowers or a card. And both of those gestures seem kind of weak at this point. But I remembered noticing the grass was more overgrown than your dad used to keep it. I know it's a small thing, but I figured…with everything you've been dealing with, the lawn was probably pretty far down on your to-do list, but it was something Icould do to help you out a little."

She blinks back the glassy sheen that has appeared in her eyes.

I'm going to kick myself if I make her cry.

"Bella, I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to come here and upset you today. I didn't think you'd be home. I thought I could get the yard done while you were out…without…disturbing you any further."

She shakes her head and swipes a quick hand at an eye.

"You're not disturbing me. And you're right—I haven't felt like doing much lately." She sighs heavily as her gaze flickers back to the lawnmower. "This is just really…kind of you, Edward… Especially after yesterday..."

"Don't worry about it," I interrupt. "It's not a big deal."

I'm searching for something to lighten the moment when it dawns on me we've had this entire conversation amidst the pungent scent of dog shit. So I take that as my cue.

"I was actually just about to get started on the yard when I…uh…I had a rather unfortunate _misstep_..."

She follows my gaze down to my shoe. And then she laughs. It's such a lovely and welcome sound and I think maybe it takes her by surprise as much as it does me.

"Oh, yeah… I saw _that_, earlier, too," she says, still smiling. "Give me your shoe."

I stare at her like she's crazy. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. I'll clean it off and bring it right back. Trust me, I've got the technique down."

"Ohh-kaay," I say, still feeling a bit uncertain about this.

Leaning on the handle of the mower, I carefully untie the shoe, carefully slip it off, and carefully hand it to her by the laces.

"Wait right there," she says over her shoulder as she turns away.

"Where would I go?" I'm mildly confused, but mostly I'm just teasing her. When she looks back I lift my socked foot, wiggling my toes to make my point. I'm pretty sure I see the contour of her cheek lift in another smile as she turns away.

I continue watching her as she walks back to the no-man's-land side of the house. There, near the faucet, she bends down and gets to work. When she abruptly turns to the side I realize I was staring at her behind. I feel foolish and I look away, thankful she didn't catch me, but I'm left wondering if she sensed it. Refocusing my attention, I notice she's using the hose and a long-handled toilet brush in her endeavors—which strikes me as terribly apropos and makes me chuckle.

When she's finished she returns, carrying my shoe, a lidded-bucket, and two long-handled poop-scooping tools.

"Good as new," she announces, handing over my shoe.

"Thank you." I take it and slip it back on and stoop down to tie the laces.

"I can't believe you thought to come mow the lawn," she remarks idly as she waits.

I shrug and look up, smiling. "Why not? It's not like I haven't done it before."

"That's true," she says, returning my smile.

And then she blushes.

And I know exactly what she's thinking. Because I suddenly find myself thinking about it too…

*I*

In the spring of my senior year, when Bella and I had just started dating, Chief Swan put his foot down about boys coming over when he was at work—me being "the boys" in question. Bella put her foot down right back at her father, saying she hardly had any social life as it was, and since I was volunteering at the clinic during the week, the only real time she could spend with me was on the weekends.

Charlie finally acquiesced, though he told Bella she could expect him to swing by the house—randomly and unannounced—during his weekend shifts at the station.

And so we behaved throughout that spring and summer.

Mostly.

The real dilemma for Charlie was on those couple Sundays a month when he would go fishing with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater. On those days he would be gone for hours, unable to stop by for random shenanigan-inspections. He solved his dilemma by paying me to mow his lawn on those days. I think he counted on me taking a while to get it done, and I think he assumed I'd be a stinking mess of an adolescent boy by the time I was finished.

I don't think The Chief realized just how highly-motivated I was to get the job done in a timely manner. Nor did he figure on Bella being my lovely assistant, honing her skills with the electric edger. I also don't think he counted on me bringing a change of clothes in my backpack.

After doing time in the yard, Bella and I would clean up, and then romance the hell out of each other. As time and our relationship progressed we would sometimes cut to the chase and do both at the same time. And I think both Bella and I were just so appreciative of the fact that her father was such an avid fisherman.

*I*

I don't mention the memories dancing through my mind. Instead I stand back up, shoe tied in place, and I nod toward the bucket in Bella's hand.

"What's that for?"

She blinks and looks down, like she's forgotten she's carrying it.

"Oh…um… Before mowing the lawn I usually go on a scouting mission for Fitz-bombs," she says, setting the bucket down. Lying in the grass nearby, Fitz lifts his head at the mention of his name and thumps his tail against the ground. Bella looks at him and smiles and it seems like he's smiling right back at her.

"He's pretty good about sticking to the back third of the lawn for his bombing missions, so it won't take long," she adds.

Using the tools to pick up the remainder of the mess I stepped in earlier, she then removes the lid from the bucket, deposits the scooped poop inside, and puts the lid back in place. It's a process that could be streamlined between two people. I'm also wondering if a shared objective might make interaction easier—because now that I know she's here, I'm hopeful for a little more interaction.

"Here, let me help you with that," I say, reaching for the handle of the bucket just as she does. My fingers inadvertently brush against hers and we both draw our hands back with a quick, mutual, "Sorry."

I'm left feeling hyper-aware of the unexpected sensation of those slim fingers and the warmth and softness of her skin. It's surprising and awkward, familiar yet strange, and I wonder if she feels the same confusion of sensations. I glance at her but her hair is blocking my view of her face as she bends for the bucket.

I clear my throat. "I'll help you scout the yard."

She looks up and seems surprised. "You sure?"

"Sure, why not? Let me take that." I reach for the handle of the bucket again, careful about my hand placement this time. And then we begin patrolling the yard to round up whatever treasures Fitz has cleverly hidden in the long grass.

"So, did you get your son's bike fixed?" Bella asks when we pause for a deposit in the Fitz-bomb repository.

"Yeah. It was just a flat. We stopped by Newton's Outdoor Outfitters for a patch kit. I thought for sure I'd see Mike. I thought he'd always be a permanent fixture at his folks' store."

She smiles and shakes her head. "Not anymore. He works at the high school now, teaching P.E. classes and he helps coach the varsity football and baseball teams. You'd have been more likely to run into Jessica at Newton's. She's the Assistant Manager…and she's Mrs. Mike Newton."

I nod at that piece of news. "I figured that was the case when I saw them leave from your house together yesterday. Do they have any kids?"

"Two. Matthew, thirteen, and Kevin, ten."

"I'll bet they're sporty boys," I say, shooting Bella a little smile.

She laughs. "Well, they _do_ have to live up to the Newton family name—and probable future employment at Newton's Outdoor Outfitters."

I grin at that and then I point out a Fitz-bomb a few steps away and we stop for clean-up. When I replace the lid I see her looking at me curiously, chewing at her lip, and so I raise my brows, inviting her inquiry.

"Um…I was just wondering… What is your son doing while you're over here, doing my yard work?"

Her question makes me smile. "Don't worry. I'm not neglecting him, Bella. He's seventeen. And he's on spring break. That pretty much makes him nocturnal. He stays up late reading, playing video games, listening to music, watching TV or movies…" I shrug and smile. "He'll call me in a couple hours when he wakes up. But unlike him, I actually sleep at night, so I like to make use of my mornings."

"I see." She smiles and we continue on with our hunt, but after a moment she asks, "So, do you have other children?"

"No. Just Masen. It's just the two of us." And then I add, "His mother and I are divorced."

"Oh," she says, nodding, though she doesn't comment further.

I'm not sure why I volunteered that last piece of information. She didn't ask, and it certainly doesn't have any bearing on anything. I guess I'm just hoping this will be a give and take. I'm curious about her life, but I don't want her to think I have ulterior motives. Which I don't, of course. Especially since I live two thousand miles away.

"What about…you?" I ask, thinking about the previous day, when I only saw her with her mother and stepfather at the funeral.

"Me?" She blinks in confusion. "What about me?"

I suddenly can't help wondering if I'm about to make a grave error with my question, but I'm not sure I can backtrack now.

"No children? Spouse? Some sort of…significant…someone?"

"Oh…" She shakes her head. "No, but I have friends who are willing to lend me theirs." Her eyes snap to mine, widening in horror. "They're willing to lend me their _children_! Not their _spouses_!"

I can't help it, I burst into laughter at the mortification on her face.

"Oh my god, Edward! You know that's not what I meant!" she says, slapping my upper arm. Her action surprises me, making me laugh harder, and then she rolls her eyes at me and turns, wandering off in an embarrassed huff in the pursuit of poop. I follow after her, quickly stifling my laughter.

"Bella, wait. I'm sorry. It's just… Your face…"

"I know, I know. Beet red, right?"

My laughter is under control though I can't help my smile as I nod.

She shakes her head at me and then looks down to scoop up another little pile. When she dumps it into the bucket she looks up, her eyes returning to mine.

"Anyway, no and no," she says. "No children and no spouse…or significant someone…but I _was_ married."

I wait for more, too slow to realize my lack of reaction has just given me away.

Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. "You…knew that?"

I clear my throat, hoping she's not going to think I was some kind of a stalker. "Yeah, I did, actually."

She looks kind of puzzled. "How?"

"Well, I uh… Do you remember Garrett Hawkins? He graduated when I did...went to school in Boston when I was at Dartmouth…?"

She nods vaguely. I know she knew _of_ him, though he and I didn't hang out together when we were home during breaks. I was too busy with Bella and he was busy with his friends.

"Well, Garrett's family had friends in La Push," I continue, "and Garrett knew I had dated you…"

There's sudden comprehension on her face.

"So Garrett heard…and he told you." She pauses, and then asks, "Is that how you found out I'd started dating Jake in the first place?"

"Yeah. Sort of. Garrett's older brother, Peter, had a friend from La Push who got married over spring break that year. Peter was in the wedding and Garrett's whole family went." I can't recall names, so I resort to a description. "It was a sunset ceremony, up on the cliffs overlooking First Beach."

"Sam and Emily's wedding," Bella murmurs. And then she frowns. "How can you remember the details of their wedding? I mean, you weren't even there."

"No…I wasn't. But Garrett had some pictures. Photos he'd taken..."

Understanding registers in her dark eyes. She knows what I'm about to say. She even beats me to it.

"And you saw me in them…with Jake."

I nod. "Yeah. You were in a few of them. It was clear you were together, even without Garrett saying anything." I shrug, because it's all in the past and life moved on, even though it didn't feel like it ever would at the time.

"Anyway, that's how I found out you'd started seeing him. And then a handful of years later, when Garrett's parents still lived out here, I heard from him that you had married."

She nods, frowning as we continue walking side by side through the grass until we reach the far corner of the yard. I can't help but wonder what she's thinking, though I don't ask and she doesn't offer.

"I guess that's that," I say and she looks up, startled and obviously confused by my words.

"Our reconnaissance mission…" I say, hefting the bucket I've been carrying. "I think we're finished," I explain.

"Oh… Yeah… I guess we are," she says, looking around. She seems surprised to see that we're done.

We're both quiet as we return to where the mower is waiting, and I wonder what she's thinking.

"I'll take that," she says softly, gesturing toward the bucket, which I hand over. She sets it and the two long-handled tools down next to the shed and then she turns back to me.

"So, um… From what you said yesterday, you must have been...pretty upset…you know…to see those photos."

"Well…yeah. Of course it hurt to see you with someone else. To see you with _him_."

She takes a couple steps toward me, slowly closing the distance between us.

"I don't understand, Edward. You broke things off during spring break a year before that. Why did it matter a year later that I'd begun seeing Jake? You weren't here. And it's not like you were coming back."

I hesitate, though I know none of this matters at this point, but my hesitation must tell her more than I realize, because her eyes slowly widen as her mouth drops open, and when she speaks it's a shocked exhale.

"Oh my god, Edward… You _were_ coming back."

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**A/N: I hope you'll share your thoughts. Thank you for continuing to read. **


	17. Pieces of the Past

**Indelible**

**A/N**: To quote 2muchtrouble's review last chapter: "Maybe if Edward had let her know he planned to come back he wouldn't be stuck with a bucket load of crap now." That sums things up.

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**Chapter 17: Pieces of the Past **

He was coming back.

I can see that I'm right. His answer is in his eyes and in his hesitation, even before I see the flicker of a wistful smile and hear his soft, somewhat reluctant response.

"Yeah. I was," he says softly. The look he gives me is tentative and uncertain as he rakes his long fingers through his cropped hair. He doesn't say anything more and I think maybe he's holding his breath, waiting for my reaction.

Even though I sensed it coming, his revelation still stuns me. It's an unexpected punch to the gut. And maybe his plan to return shouldn't matter, since it was so long ago and never actually took place. But it does matter. It changes everything I thought I knew.

"Oh…Edward…" It's all I can manage as I stare at him, wondering which emotion to latch onto.

"When? In the summer?" I finally prompt, remembering he'd mentioned the photos of me and Jake, taken that spring at the Uleys' wedding.

He shifts his stance slightly and nods. "Yeah. When spring term finished." His gaze is intense as he studies my face, my eyes, and I think he's looking for clues or trying to read my thoughts.

"More than a year later…with no word…you just…decided you'd come back?" I ask.

It defies logic and I'm sure he can hear that in my voice. He looks decidedly unhappy at the way I've framed that question and I wonder if maybe he's ashamed. Maybe I just want him to feel ashamed.

There's a movement in his throat as he swallows. "It wasn't what I'd envisioned happening when I left," he says quietly. "But…the situation changed and I changed..."

"How was I supposed to know?" I demand, cutting him off. I cross my arms over my chest, feeling suddenly both irritated and defensive.

He shakes his head. "You couldn't have known, Bella."

"Of course not!" I sputter. "You never wrote and told me anything had changed. You never wrote at all! And you told _me_ not to write—that you wouldn't read my letters if I did! Do you have any idea, how that made me feel?"

He hangs his head, exhaling heavily. "I can imagine—I _have_ imagined. I was wrong and I was the worst kind of stupid."

His words surprise me. The disgust in his voice surprises me even more. And when he lifts his eyes to mine I can clearly see shame in them now. And remorse.

"I thought not writing would make things easier in the long run," he says softly. "But obviously I was wrong and that wasn't the case—for either of us. And what I told you was a lie. I would have read your letters. I would have read them over and over again just to hear your voice in your words. Just like I did with every other letter you ever sent. I'm so terribly sorry for saying what I did. If I could go back and change things, I would. Believe me."

His heartfelt words and apology give me pause and I remind myself we're talking about something that happened two decades ago, not last week or last month. We're two adults, with twenty years of life's experiences between our nineteen year old selves and now. This is ancient history we're discussing, not current affairs.

I sigh. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you," I tell him. "I know you can't change what happened in the past. It's just…I never knew this. It's just such a shock to hear now and it's hard to process very quickly."

"Don't apologize," he says. "You have nothing to be sorry about. But I get it. And that's why I was hesitant to respond when you first brought it up. I wasn't sure if you'd really want to know…or if things would be better left unsaid."

He smiles reassuringly, if not a little cautiously, and I'm glad he hasn't taken offense. He certainly didn't show up today for a showdown.

"I just need a little process time to put things in perspective," I tell him. "Well, maybe I should say, in a _different_ perspective than the one I've always had."

He nods and gives me a rueful smile. "That's completely understandable. I've had plenty of time to reflect on what I did and didn't do, but obviously you haven't."

"I'd rather know what happened, though," I tell him. "There's a lot I'd like to know about what you did and didn't do," I admit.

His mouth quirks up slightly and the ghost of little smile crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. "Do you have twenty questions?" he asks.

His question catches me off guard and I smile reflexively. He's remembering that day in Bio all those years ago, and the note we passed back and forth during the entire class period—all those questions I had for him.

"I'm not sure how many questions I'll have. Maybe more than twenty. Is there a limit?"

He smiles. "No. No limit. Fire away."

My breath catches in my throat, wondering exactly how much Edward Cullen remembers. That phrase, _fire away_, is exactly what he wrote on that note. I wouldn't have remembered it if I hadn't just reread it a couple days ago on that page taped into my notebook. But it's probably just a coincidence, I decide. A common enough reply.

"How long were you planning on staying?" I ask.

He purses his lips, considering the question. "That was still up in the air, but I had to return to Dartmouth in the fall for my senior year."

I nod, relieved he has no additional earth-shattering bombshell to floor me. No plan to break all the rules and drop out of college.

"So you wanted to come back because…you'd changed your mind? About us? About…not wanting to be with me?"

He blinks, looking completely taken aback by my question. And when he responds, it's me who's taken aback at the hurt and intensity in his voice and eyes.

"Don't say it like that, Bella. It was never a question of not _wanting_ to be with you. I _wanted_ to be with you. That didn't stop just because I left. But at nineteen… only halfway through my undergrad…with medical school on the horizon…the situation seemed utterly hopeless. Once my parents decided to move to Chicago, what did you and I have to look forward to? An annual visit, maybe two, for who knew how many years?"

He shakes his head as his voice calms. "It all happened so abruptly, I didn't know how else to handle it. I thought… I really thought I was doing the right thing at the time." His apologetic green eyes search mine.

"Of course I regretted what I'd done, afterward," he continues. "You were the very best part of my life and I knew I'd hurt you terribly. That tortured me. I thought about it constantly. And I couldn't stop thinking about you. I'd hoped that would ease in time, as the school year passed. But it didn't. And even though I thought it was the right thing to do when I left, it became harder and harder to stay away. I missed you terribly. By the end of winter term that March I decided to come back…to see you…and I just hoped you could forgive me for what I'd done."

My mind skips into the past, to a Saint Patrick's Day party that same mid-March—to a bonfire at First Beach and a first kiss from Jake. It was only a couple weeks before Sam and Emily's wedding—and a series of photos that would be taken there.

I suppose it's unavoidable that I suddenly find myself wondering how much time, if any, separated Edward's decision to return and my decision to leave the past behind.

"Bella?"

Edward's voice cuts into my thoughts. I blink and realize I've been staring at him blankly.

"Edward… I just… I had no idea..."

"I know you didn't," he says quietly. Resignedly.

"Why didn't you let me know before that? You could have called…or written."

"I was convinced you wouldn't want to hear from me or have anything to do with me, after the way I'd left—after what I'd done. I thought I had a better chance if I could see you and talk to you in person. Anyway…that was the plan…" He smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"That was the plan until you saw those photos," I finish for him.

He nods. "Yeah. And I knew then I was already too late."

"Didn't you think I would maybe still want to know?"

"I didn't think it would matter at that point," he says gently. "There didn't seem to be any point in telling you after…" He pauses. "After…that."

It doesn't escape my notice that he refers to my being with Jacob as "that." It reminds me that he and Jake never really got along. They were always at odds with each other. Edward was always a little doubtful of my friendship with Jake and at least mildly jealous whenever I spent any time with him. Old habits die hard, I guess.

"There's one thing I don't understand," I say. "Did you…expect me to wait? Indefinitely? In case you changed your mind?"

"No," he says adamantly, shaking his head. "I didn't expect that. I didn't want that—you putting your life on hold, waiting for me. The time apart had always been hard enough on you as it was," he says with a sigh.

"You and Jacob always had a bond," he continues after a moment, like he's thinking out loud. "Your fathers were close, you'd been friends since childhood, and when you moved here, of course your friendship grew." He pauses, frowning at some unspoken thought as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "He was here for you when I…wasn't. And he always had feelings for you—that much was obvious. How could I compete with him once you returned those feelings? I only ever wanted you to be happy, Bella. And…in those photos…" He gives me that same wistful half-smile he gave me earlier. "In those photos, I could see that you were."

My heart aches at his words. I can only imagine how he must have felt, seeing me with someone else. If our roles had been reversed, I know how hard it would have been to see him with someone else. Even after that year had elapsed and I'd begun dating Jake, it was something I often imagined—Edward with someone new. Someone not-me. But Edward had truly seen it, captured on film. And though I don't know exactly what he saw in those photos from that wedding, I do remember how attentive Jake was and happy that I was there with him.

I also remember how persistent and warm he'd been, after I'd been crippled by anguish and loss. He kept picking me up and pushing me forward and eventually our relationship became more. But even after we'd married, it never became _everything_.

I'd only ever felt that once.

And it hadn't been with Jacob Black.

All the what-ifs begin crowding into my thoughts. What if I'd known? What if I'd waited just a little longer? What if Edward _had_ come back? What if he'd written, or if I'd sent letters to him in the first place, despite him telling me not to?

Everything I thought—about Edward's departure and his silence since then—has been turned upside down. All the hurt, anger, and frustration I'd always felt is now joined by second-guessing—wondering what might have been, if either of us had pursued a different course.

"I wish… I just wish I'd known," I say, hating the way my voice cracks.

When I look up at him, Edward's eyebrows furrow together in concern.

"I mean, what if I'd known… What if I'd waited?" I can feel the heat and sting of tears welling up in my eyes. I blink them back but they won't stay put. Crap.

"Bella..." Edward's shaking his head as he takes a step closer, reaching out to grasp my arm.

"I would have, you know," I say.

I wipe at my cheeks and eyes because I'm crying now. There's no stopping it. I feel ridiculous crying about something that happened so long ago. And I feel ugly. I'm an ugly crier.

I hear a low curse and then I feel Edward closing in, his arms surrounding me, pulling me into a hug, pressing me against the solid support of his chest.

His scent is a memory—clean and fresh, like linen and sunshine—washing over me as he tucks my head against his shoulder.

When he tips his head down, pressing his scruffy cheek against my hair, I feel completely overcome and I cry all the harder.

This hug is so familiar. Long-forgotten but well-remembered.

"I would have waited if you'd given me the chance," I croak into his chest. Even my voice is ugly when I cry.

"Bella, don't…" His voice is low, rough, but he doesn't say anything more. Maybe he can't. Maybe he just doesn't know what to say.

For a few moments he just hugs me, one hand rubbing my back, the other hand cradling my head. Eventually he begins smoothing a hand over my hair and he speaks, his voice soothing.

"You can't change the past. As much as we might like to, it's set in stone, you know? Both the good and the bad."

I nod against him, sniffling, but I know he's right. There's no going backward in life, we can only go forward and try to do our best.

"And there are never any guarantees the future will play out the way we might expect or hope, right?" he asks. His fingertips flex in my hair and I know he's waiting for a response.

"Yeah." I nod again. He's right about that as well. The future can change and it often does.

"The present is fairly dependable, though," he murmurs. "It shows up every day, ready for us to make the most of it."

His hands move to my arms as I straighten, and he gives them a quick little squeeze before we both step back from his embrace. For some reason, it doesn't feel awkward. I swipe my hands over my face, grateful I didn't put on any mascara this morning when I met Mom and Phil for breakfast.

I look up at him. "That last bit was really…cheesy," I tell him bluntly. And then a stray giggle escapes me.

He's momentarily surprised but then his mouth curls into a smile and he chuckles.

"You don't like my words of wisdom?" he asks.

I smile. "I do agree with the thought. Thoughts. All of them."

"Just not the cheese," he observes with a nod, smiling still.

And then his expression turns more serious. "You okay?" he asks, cocking his head and looking at me carefully.

"Yeah," I sigh. "I've had one weepy day after the other. At least today I cried for a different reason, so maybe I'm making progress."

"Want me to get you some tissues?" he asks, nodding toward the house.

I shake my head. "No, I'm good. I used your shirt." I point to the wet spot on his chest, fairly confident I'm looking at tears, not snot.

He pulls his white T-shirt away from his chest and looks at the spot. Then he gives me a shrug and a crooked smile when he looks back up. "I've had worse."

He lifts a hand then and he rubs at the back of his neck. "I didn't mean to make you cry, Bella. You had questions and I guess I got carried away with the answers. I probably said too much."

"No, I'm glad you told me everything you did," I say.

"Really," I add when he gives me a doubtful look.

"I mean, obviously I'm still really sad for us—for our younger selves. It always felt like things ended too soon between us. But it always seemed to me like it was mostly my own personal tragedy. Now I know it was yours too. Probably much more so."

His eyes are soft. "I'm sad for those nineteen-year-olds too, Bella. Such poor timing…events beyond our control…misguided decisions… It's as tragic as Romeo and Juliet. Minus the sleeping potion, poison and dagger, of course."

I smile. "I guess things could have been a lot worse."

He nods. "And my ill-timed epiphany and non-trip to Forks are moot points now. Life went on. For both of us."

"Yeah."

"And I guess I should probably get on with _this_," he adds. I follow the movement of his hand as he reaches out to grasp the handle of the lawnmower. "Time's a-wasting and the grass is only getting higher with each passing moment."

"Oh…right." I blink. I'd completely forgotten about the yard—and Fitz—who is currently lying on his side, snoring in the sunshine, passed out from the sheer boredom of our inaction.

I look back to Edward and use his cheesy philosophical line from moments ago back at him. "I guess we might as well make good use of the present since it showed up, ready for us to make the most of it and all."

He tips his head up and laughs. It's so carefree. Such a rich sound, deeper than it used to be, but he's no longer the boy he once was.

And I'm not the girl I used to be.

"And here I thought you didn't appreciate my cheese." He grins at me. His green eyes are dazzling.

"I don't know... Your cheese might be growing on me," I tell him.

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**A/N: I hope to hear from you!**


	18. From the Outside In

**Indelible**

**A/N:** If you review, I will reply! :)

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**Chapter 18: From the Outside In**

"Let me get him sidetracked before you start the mower," I tell Edward, gesturing toward my snoozing Fitz, sprawled out in the grass.

"He doesn't like the mower?" Edward asks.

"Nope. Nor its evil twin—the vacuum. He always wants to pick a fight with them."

Edward smiles. "So how do you get him sidetracked?"

I hold up my index finger for him to give me a moment, deciding I'll just show him. Then I turn to my dozing dog.

"Fitz!" His head snaps up and he looks at me. "Who wants a chewy activity?"

He's on his feet instantly, barreling for the backdoor, unable to believe his good fortune, and anxious to be the first one in line.

I turn back to Edward to see his brow raised in amusement.

"A _chewy activity_?" he prompts.

"A chicken-flavored rawhide bone."

"Well, he obviously likes his chewy activities," Edward observes, nodding toward the porch, where Fitz stands like a statue, nose to the door, anxious to get his paws on the prize.

"As far as he's concerned, he's just won the doggy lottery," I reply. "Just give me a quick moment before you start," I add before heading off toward the house.

When I get to the door to let Fitz inside, I look back to see Edward's eyes still on us and he smiles.

Inside the house, Fitz sits, waiting patiently while I get the goods. But when the mower starts up outside, he's torn. He looks at the backdoor and whines.

"No," I tell him sternly.

He looks longingly toward the door once more but doesn't whine.

"Good boy," I say as I hand him his distracting sidetracking device.

He scoots under the kitchen table—his lair—and gets to work. If he can't show the mower who's the boss, he can certainly teach that rawhide bone a thing or two.

I look out the backdoor and watch Edward mow a straight line across the back of the yard. When he begins making his way back, I notice his expression has turned more serious. He seems pensive. And when he shakes his head slightly I can't help but wonder exactly what he's focused on—the yard ahead or the past behind?

I'm dressed too warmly for the sunny spring day it's turning out to be, so I go upstairs to change out of my oversized sweater. I veto a number of sloppy T-shirts I might normally wear for chores like yard work, selecting something a little more presentable and a lot less hobo. After I pull it on over my head I feel pulled in another direction, so I cross the hall into Dad's bedroom. The window here looks down onto the backyard and I'm feeling compelled to check out the view below.

It's so strange to see Edward down there, pushing that mower. So unexpected. So familiar, but so different, too. He still has that loose, long-legged stride, but he's not the lanky boy he once was. He's lean but more substantial. More muscled. And he's more rugged-looking with that close, scruffy beard of his. But despite the changes over time, he is still so very easy on the eyes. And though he's simply mowing the lawn, he moves with a rather graceful efficiency.

He glances toward the back porch, the movement almost stealthy. I realize he's probably wondering what I'm doing and when I'm coming back to help. And here I am, just watching him. Spying on him. Taking in his every move. And the way his worn jeans and plain white T-shirt fit that well-made, well-kept body of his…

I abruptly pull myself away from the window's edge, wondering what the hell I'm thinking.

I remind my pathetic self that he's leaving for Chicago tomorrow. Where he lives. So there's no point in wasting my time.

But then I decide I don't want to be wasting my time either figuratively _or_ literally, so I quickly head back downstairs. I'd like to get to know present-day Edward a little better before he's just a memory as well.

He notices my return to the back porch, looking over and smiling. But when I head down the steps and out across the yard, he comes to a standstill, cutting the engine on the mower.

"What are you doing?" he asks, watching as I head for the shed.

I slow at his strange question. "The yard. With you."

He frowns. "You don't need to do anything. I didn't come over here to make you feel obligated to work in the yard—I didn't even think you'd be home."

I stop walking completely. "Well, I am home. And you're not making me do anything, Edward. Don't expect me to sit on the porch and watch you work while I eat chocolates." I cross my arms over my chest to stress my point.

His frown deepens. "Is that a legitimate option?" he asks, leaning on the mower's handle.

I'm confused by his question. "What?"

"If that's a legitimate option, and you're dead set on working out here, I'll go sit on the porch and eat chocolates while _you_ mow." A cocky, teasing smile replaces his frown and I laugh out loud.

"It's actually _not_ a legitimate option," I say. "And neither is doing the lawn by yourself. I'm perfectly capable of helping and you're not going to talk me out of it, so don't even try." I nod in the direction of the shed. "I'm just going get the edger, so now you can get back to your mowing." I wave my hand in a rather bratty gesture, indicating that he should just get on with it.

"Yes, ma'am," he says as I continue across the grass.

But the mower doesn't start back up immediately. So I sneak a peek over my shoulder to see if he's still watching me or possibly smirking at me.

It's both. He's still so predictable.

And just as predictably, I blush at being caught sneaking a peek. With very little effort on his part he's succeeded in making me feel like a silly teenager. So when he grins widely in response, I just stick my tongue out at him before disappearing into the shed. And once I'm inside, I grin to myself, listening to his laughter as the mower starts back up.

He continues his swaths across the back yard while I get started with the edger, working my way down the brick-edged planter along the fence. My back is to him, so I can't watch him. And I'm sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of another peek over my shoulder and blush on my face. Instead I run back through our conversation earlier, mulling over all the things I never knew.

I know the past can't be changed, and I know how pointless it is to contemplate how things _might_ have been, still the heart and mind don't always see eye to eye and it's hard to push those thoughts aside.

Once I finish edging the left side of the yard I continue along the walkway at the back of the house. I'm just past the porch when the mower's engine comes to a stop once again. When I look back I see that Edward is at mid-yard and in the process of disconnecting the mower's bag—already full of grass clippings. I set the edger to the side and go to help.

"I've got it," he assures me, hefting the full bag and holding it upright so it doesn't spill. "Where should I empty this?"

"Back here," I say, leading him to the far side of the shed and to the appropriate cans for clippings. I remove the lid from one and he shifts the heavy bag, upending it over the can. The muscles in his strong and capable arms bunch and flex as he gives the bag a few good shifts and shakes. My eyes dart quickly back to his face as he looks up.

"Who usually takes care of all this?" he asks.

"Who takes care of what?" I ask, feeling slightly flustered.

"The yard. Since…" He falters and his concerned expression grows cautious. "I mean… Your dad had had a stroke, too, right?"

"Oh. Yeah." I nod. "About a year ago…"

"What…happened, exactly?"

Even though conversation has become easier and our interaction has smoothed out into rather comfortable familiarity, it hits home again just how little we know about each other now. So I give him a quick rundown of Dad's stroke—the effects and the aftermath—including my decision to quit the job I'd had at the Peninsula Daily News in Port Angeles, in order to stay home and help with Charlie's care and rehabilitation.

"I took care of the housework and yard for a while but eventually he regained most of the dexterity he'd lost and then we usually tackled things like this together," I gesture toward the yard as I finish, finally getting around to answering his question.

His concern is still evident in his expression and I know what he's thinking.

"And now… I'll do it again, like I did before," I add. "I could hire someone, but I can manage it on my own."

His eyes are sympathetic as he nods. And then he gives me a small smile and a shrug. "At least today you don't have to."

I smile at him in return. "Yeah. Thank you for this, Edward. It certainly makes it easier."

"I guess we'd better get back to it," he says.

And we do. Edward resumes mowing and I finish trimming the walkway and move on to the planter on the right side of the yard. We finish the backyard at nearly the same time and as he empties the grass catcher a second time, I duck inside the house for the key to unlock the side gate. Fitz is still busy with his chewy and when I return, Edward is waiting with the mower near the foot of the porch steps.

"Do you think you'll try to move back to Port Angeles at some point?" he asks as I rejoin him and grab the edger. "You know…try to get a job at the Peninsula Daily News again?"

"I don't know." I sigh as we walk over and I unlock the gate. "I got sick of the office politics at the PDN. And I hate the thought of moving again. I have more friends here in Forks and I feel kind of settled here again. Besides, I don't think I could sell this place…at least not for a while, you know?"

He nods. "That's understandable." He reaches up, scratching his jaw, and for a moment I wonder if his close-trimmed beard is itchy. But then he side-eyes me and I realize his scratching is probably more of a nervous gesture and I wonder what he's pondering.

"What?" I ask.

He drops his hand and shrugs. "Nothing."

"_What?_" I repeat.

He looks at me, but I can see he's debating with himself before he replies. "It's…not really my business."

"_What_ isn't? Just…say it."

He exhales. "Are you…uh…okay here? I mean…you know…_financially_?"

His question surprises me. And then it doesn't. Edward was always a terrific worrier—especially on my behalf. Even though it _isn't_ really his business—like he said—I find his concern far more touching than invasive.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Dad left me everything, including the house, which he owned outright. I have some savings of my own, too, of course, and I have a little income from some…um…some other sources."

He nods. But then he frowns. "Other sources?"

The look on his face makes me laugh. "Don't worry, I'm not selling weed in the high school parking lot after school!"

He chuckles at that, but I can see he's still curious, waiting for more information, so I decide to tell him—at least a little.

"I um… I write. Besides journalism. I've written some novels."

"You have? _Really_?" His face lights up with keen interest.

I shrug it off. "Yeah. On the side. Under a pseudonym. They're not bestsellers or anything exceptional, just young adult fiction. But they earn me a little money." I look down, hoping he's not going to ask me for my penname or titles or any specifics, though he would probably guess I'd be inclined to write romance novels.

Much to my relief, he doesn't ask any of those questions.

"How _many_ novels?" he asks instead.

"Oh…um…six." I shrug. "So far."

He nods. And smiles. Like he's proud? I can't tell exactly what he's thinking but he seems inordinately pleased by that number. I laugh, feeling a little embarrassed at his interest.

"What?" I ask with a laugh.

He shakes his head, grinning. "Nothing. It's just… That's great. I mean, it's…amazing."

"They're just teen novels, Edward. Nothing earth-shaking."

"So? Teens need books to read and someone has to write them. You're a published author, Bella. That's something to be proud of."

I nod, but I still feel kind of ridiculous. If he only knew _what_—or more to the point, _who_—was buried amongst the pages of those teen romances. Thankfully he doesn't ask anything further and I get the conversation back around to where we started.

"Anyway, you asked how I was financially, and I'm fine. If all else fails, I think Eric Yorkie would hire me to write for the Forks Forum or Angela would put me to work slinging caffeine and baked goods at The Cup and Saucer."

He chuckles at that. "Okay." He nods. "Well, thanks for telling me—even though it wasn't any of my business."

"That's okay." I smile back at him. "I appreciate your concern." He's still smiling to himself as we get back to work.

As I trim the grass along the edge of the driveway I think about his reaction to me writing—to being a published author. He seemed so…happy to hear about it…and impressed. It makes me feel kind of proud of myself.

I can't help but compare Edward's supportive reaction to Jacob's, years ago.

Jacob was curious when I'd started writing. And then he teased me about the subject matter when I read him excerpts. Then he became somewhat annoyed by the time and effort involved in "my little hobby," even though it eventually meant a bit of additional income. I think he read maybe half of my first two books but just seemed baffled by the whole thing. Like he didn't get what would drive me to write a teen romance novel, let alone a series of them. Or maybe that's just it…I pause as the thought now occurs to me…maybe Jacob _did_ understand the driving force behind me writing those novels.

Maybe I was the one who didn't really get it, or understand why Jacob was irritated.

I've finished the edges of the driveway and sidewalk and I'm working my way up the front walkway when Edward makes his final pass. Over the noise of the mower, he pauses to let me know he's going to the back yard to dump out the clippings and stow the mower in the shed.

I nod as he moves off and my eyes follow him until he rounds the corner and disappears from sight.

As I get back at the task at hand I start thinking about how little we know about each other's lives—just random tidbits of information we've gleaned from our scattered conversations. It's like working a jigsaw puzzle without the full picture, sorting through pieces of the past as they crop up, trying to fit them together. There's still so much I wonder about but there's precious little time left to cover twenty missing years. The yard is nearly finished and I'm sure he'll have to leave soon, and I'm just sorry I wasted time yesterday being upset.

I'm so lost in my thoughts I don't see or hear his return. But I sure gasp and jump in surprise at the sudden hand on my shoulder.

"Sorry! Sorry!" he shouts over the buzz of the edger when I whirl around to face him. His palms are up in a surprised and apologetic gesture—though the amusement twinkling in his eyes tells me otherwise.

"You scared the crap out of me!" I yelp.

"I called your name!" he laughs. "I guess you didn't hear me." He's grinning as he takes the edger from my hands. "Let me finish this. I got it."

I watch him for a moment, uncertain about what to do with myself now. He's almost finished. And then surely he's going to leave. And I don't feel ready to say goodbye because this has become…enjoyable. Nostalgic and new and enjoyable.

"Can I get you something cold to drink?" I ask hopefully when he shuts off the machine.

"Sure. A drink would be great. I'll just put this away and lock up the shed. I'll meet you on the back porch, okay?"

Of course I agree as we head around to the back of the house together.

In the kitchen I wash up and grab two bottles of lemonade from the refrigerator, setting them on the counter. My eyes drift over to Edward's business card lying near the phone, but then I hear him coming up the porch steps and I forget about it for the moment.

"Bella?" He's peering in through the screen door. "Mind if I wash my hands?"

"Of course not. Come on in. Is lemonade okay?" I ask as he steps inside and heads over to the sink.

"Sounds perfect, thanks."

"Are you hungry? It's a little early for lunch, but I've got some sandwich stuff in the fridge if you are." I chew at my lip, wondering if I sound pathetic, trying to put off his departure with my offer of lunch—and a reason to linger.

"Oh, uh… I appreciate the offer, Bella, but I'll probably hear from Masen before long. I should just wait and grab some lunch with him later."

I hand him his drink once he's done drying his hands. He raises the bottle to his lips and takes a drink, leaving me to watch his throat as he does so. It's appealing for some reason and I'm embarrassed that I think so, but luckily I remember my own drink and take a quick sip before he notices me gawking.

"Want to sit outside for a bit?" he asks.

"Sure."

Maybe I'm not the only one thinking of lingering.

The shady porch is verging on cold with the breeze that has picked up, so we sit next to each other in the sunshine, halfway down the porch steps. I survey what we accomplished in the backyard and turn to Edward.

"It looks so much better out here. But I'm really glad I didn't just return home and find it all done. I'm glad I was here. Thank you…for showing up like you did."

He smiles a soft smile. "It was a pleasure, Bella."

"It was. I mean, for me too, you know? I'm glad we got a do-over for yesterday."

He nods. "It's been good to just…talk a little."

"Yeah, I agree. And you filled in a lot of blanks. That was good for me. And this was a good distraction—being outside, doing something physical. Even though you did most of it."

"You did a lot, too. Look how well you trimmed everything," he says, pointing to the walkway below. His gallant observation makes me smile.

As I sip at my lemonade a question occurs to me. "If I _hadn't_ been here, would you have just left me to wonder who came and did the yard?"

He purses his lips and then he shrugs. "I really hadn't thought that far ahead. I suppose I would have left a note…hoping you'd try to get in touch."

"What would you have written?" I persist, intrigued.

He shakes his head, grinning at my pursuit of the hypothetical. "Well, let's see…" He scratches his jaw as he considers and I wonder—not for the first time—if that close beard of his is prickly, tickly, or soft.

"I probably would have left another business card—just tucked it into the front screen," he says. "On the back I probably would have written something brief. Something subtle. Like… _Hi Bella, Just wanted to let you know I stopped by one 'mower' time_."

He breaks into a grin and then dissolves into laughter, obviously pleased with his quick wit. I just roll my eyes and smack his leg next to mine. And then I remember something I wanted to ask.

"Speaking of your business card… I still can't believe you became a lawyer. What happened with becoming a doctor?"

He picks at the label of his lemonade bottle before answering.

"I guess you could say I hit a rebellious phase." He scratches his head and then sets his drink aside, crossing his arms over his knees. "When I began my junior year, I was still having a really hard time adjusting to the fact that I wouldn't be coming back here during breaks. I blamed my dad for the whole upset to my life. I resented the move, him, and pretty much anything that represented him to me, I guess."

"Like your classes," I surmise.

"Like my classes," he agrees. "It was difficult to stay focused, especially in bio and chem. Things came up all the time that reminded me of Mr. Banner's biology class in high school. And you, naturally." He gives me a crooked boyish smile before continuing.

"I guess most kids go a little crazy with that first taste of independence when they go away to college. But I was a late bloomer—I waited until my junior year to start the partying and screwing around…" He winces at his own words, rushing to elaborate. "I just mean… I was drinking, smoking, skipping classes and generally avoiding responsibility. I never…did anything…_with_ anyone." He flushes slightly and I know he's referring to girls. "I didn't mean _that_ kind of screwing around," he adds quietly.

"But you know how I was in high school, Bella. I always did everything right. I stayed out of trouble, worked hard, did what was expected of me, and I 'kept my eyes on the prize' like my dad always demanded."

I nod. "It's really hard to imagine you otherwise," I admit, remembering the boy who seemed far more mature than his peers. "It's hard to imagine you as a wild and irresponsible college kid."

"Yeah, well, my dad had a real hard time imagining it when he found out, too." He's shaking his head but he's smiling. "Everything eventually turned out fine, and my dad and I have a good relationship now, but that Christmas break, when I went home to Chicago, I had a come-to-Jesus meeting to look forward to with my father. I had to tell him I'd pretty much squandered the tuition, room and board he'd paid to Dartmouth that fall quarter—since my grades were complete shit. On top of that, I'd already switched majors from Bio-Chem to Government, hoping to pursue a law degree instead of a medical degree. I hadn't discussed that with him either."

"Oh, no," I groan, but I'm smiling too, because Edward has a sort of mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He seems kind of pleased with himself. "I'm sure that conversation with your dad didn't go very well."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Nope. Dad was livid." His expression sobers slightly. "I probably have my mom to thank, that my father didn't kill me over dinner that evening."

"What did your mom do?" I ask.

"She intervened—and she _never_ intervened. She listened to our shouting match for a while and then she yelled at my father."

I'm shocked and he's shaking his head, like he still can't believe it either.

"You know my mom, Bella…she rarely even _disagrees_ with Dad, so of course he and I were stunned speechless."

"Wow." It's hard to imagine Esme Cullen being anything other than sweet and gracious. "Do you remember what she said to him?"

"Oh, hell yes. It was momentous. She said, 'He's not _you_, Carlisle! He's your _son_! And he's miserable! Quit trying to turn him into _you_ and let him be himself!' Then she turned to me and asked, 'Do you really want to be a lawyer?' I just nodded, too afraid to speak. And then she said, 'That's fine with us, dear. Just don't make me regret standing up for you, Edward.' Then she glared at my dad, stood up, and asked, 'Now, who would like some dessert?"

I just start laughing and Edward watches me, grinning and chuckling at my reaction.

"Oh my god!" I laugh. "I can't even _begin_ to imagine the tension around that dinner table. Or how the following days unfolded!"

"It definitely took some time to smooth things over and talk things out," Edward agrees. "But by the time I returned to school for winter term, I felt like this tremendous weight had been lifted. I got back on track and threw myself into my studies. There was no way I could disappoint my mother after she stood up for me like that. And of course I wanted to prove to my father that I wasn't a screw-up. I even got a part-time job—my first ever, because you know how my dad felt about me working while I was in school. A paid, part-time job would cut into my studies, but of course volunteer work was never an issue." He rolls his eyes and I smile.

"I'm sure your dad's master plan wasn't all that diabolical. He just wanted you to have medical experiences to list on a resume, Edward. And volunteer work makes any kind of application look good."

"I guess. But sometimes I wonder if he kept me financially dependent so he could stay in control. Anyway, I figured if I had to take a summer class to catch up for screwing up, I wanted to be able to pay for it myself, so my dad couldn't hold that over my head."

"That makes sense. What kind of job did you have?"

"I waited tables in this little restaurant near where I lived—_Volturi's_. It reminded me a lot of that Italian restaurant we used to go to in Port Angeles…"

"_Bella Italia_," we say at the same time. And then we laugh in surprise.

"Yeah, _Bella Italia_," he repeats softly. "Anyway, I made good tips at that little restaurant and managed to save up a decent amount of money. I caught up academically, too, so I wound up not even having to spend it on a summer class."

"Instead you were going to use that money to come to Forks for the summer," I say before I even realize I've thought it.

He gives me that wistful little smile but doesn't say anything more. He doesn't need to.

I shake my head at our lost opportunity, but I move on, prompting him to continue.

"So you graduated from Dartmouth with a degree in Government…?"

"Yep." He nods. "I finished up right on schedule and made Mom proud. And Dad, too. It was as if that dismal first quarter of my junior year never even existed."

"So then after you got your degree, you attended law school at Dartmouth, I assume?"

He hesitates. Scratches at an ear. Finally shakes his head slowly.

"Uh… No… Dartmouth… Dartmouth doesn't actually _have_ a Law School. There _is_ a Dartmouth School of Law connected to the University of Massachusetts, but it has no connection to Dartmouth College in New Hampshire. For some reason it has the same name…"

I don't even hear the rest of what he's saying because it's all clicking into place.

He didn't have to attend Dartmouth Law School to please his father and grandfather because there _was_ no Dartmouth Law School…like there was a Dartmouth Medical School.

And surely he knew that when he changed course from pre-med to pre-law.

Surely he knew he would have to go elsewhere for law school.

And there are law schools on the West Coast. There are law schools in the State of Washington. There's one at the University of Washington, and I would have still been in school there at the time. It would have been my senior year.

I exhale, dropping my forehead into my hand, my elbow perched on my knee. I can't look at him. I have to know, but I'm afraid to ask. What if I'm right? What if everything he's just told me was a means to get back out _here_? Was that what he was hoping?

"Bella?" There's concern in his voice as he leans closer. "Bella, what's wrong?" He tucks my hair back out of the way and then his hand closes around my wrist, gently prying it from my face. "Bella, look at me," he urges, releasing my wrist to wrap his hand around mine.

When I meet his eyes, they're probing and intense. "What are you thinking? Talk to me."

"Oh, Edward… Promise me you didn't pursue some field of study that wasn't really your first choice."

"What…?" He frowns, puzzled by what I'm asking of him. "You mean government? Law?"

I nod, holding my breath.

"No, I… That's what I wanted to study. Those courses were way more interesting to me than my science classes had been. Why?"

"Where were you thinking about going to law school?"

I can see in his eyes when the penny drops and he realizes why I'm asking. He gives my hand a squeeze and then releases it, patting it as he sets it gently back on my knee.

"I can't say the thought of trying to attend law school out here didn't cross my mind, Bella, because it did. I was still hoping to patch things up between us, but that's not why I went into law. And I still had to finish out my junior year, complete my senior year, and hope I kept my grades up enough to even get into a decent law school. And I had no idea at the time if things between us could ever go back to the way they had been before I'd left, anyway. That's what I was hoping to find out by coming back here that summer, once my junior year ended."

I nod, but I don't comment, because of course that didn't happen and we've already been over that. I was involved with Jake by then.

"So where did you wind up applying to law school?" I ask, curious if he'd still been thinking about trying to come back here at the time.

"I applied at a number of schools back east but I was lucky enough to get into one of the highest-ranked schools in the nation, so I went to the University of Chicago."

"Oh, that's awesome. I bet your parents were happy. And proud of you, too."

"Yeah, they were."

"Did you live at home? You know, with your parents?"

He nods. "Yeah… I did."

He gets this look in his eyes, like he's trying to decide what to say next. Or how to say whatever he wants to say.

"And then…_we_ lived there," he finally adds, watching me like he's waiting for the light bulb to go on.

But I'm lost. And he sees the blank look on my face, because he begins explaining.

"The girl I'd started dating during my senior year of college… My girlfriend…Kate… Well, my ex-wife, now… She, uh…" He licks his lips. "She got pregnant…somehow." He flushes and looks away. "I mean, obviously, I know _how," _he mutters, rolling his eyes before looking back at me. "I just meant, she'd been on the pill, but she still got pregnant that fall when I was just starting law school. Anyway, she moved into the house, too, then. We turned the family room over my parents' garage into a studio apartment. And then we got married. And then I finished my first year of law school. And then…we had Masen."

I blink. "Wow…" It's barely audible and it's all I can summon. I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. His flood of information has left me stunned. None of it is what I would have expected. Obviously it wasn't what Edward expected either.

"Yeah," he says, smiling at me—or my mouth hanging open. "I was a husband and father before my twenty-third birthday."

"You were so young."

He laughs, his eyes sparkling in the sun. "Yeah, but having a child ages you quickly."

Suddenly a sound intrudes and I recognize the same ringtone I heard from his phone yesterday.

"Speak of the devil…" Edward says, leaning toward me as he straightens out his leg to pull his phone from his front pocket.

"Go ahead. That's fine," I tell him when he looks from the phone back to me.

I pick up my lemonade and take a drink and then another, trying not to intrude on the conversation, but listening all the same. And watching. Okay, so I am intruding, but he can walk away if he wants privacy.

"Hey, it's not even noon yet," Edward says into the phone as he grins at me. "What are you doing up so early?" He pauses, listening, and then chuckles.

"You hungry?" he asks. And then he makes a face and sags, shaking his head as he replies. "No. No way, Mase. Pick someplace else. I'm sick of those burritos. They're awful." He looks over to me.

"The taqueria?" I whisper. He nods and I nod and we wind up smiling at each other.

"All right, well, get cleaned up and dressed and I'll be there shortly, okay? Okay. See you in a little bit." He pockets his phone again.

"They're bland," I say.

"They're the worst burritos ever," he agrees and I have to smile. He knew exactly what I meant.

"Well, Bella, I hate to say it, but I guess I've got to get going." He gives me that wistful little smile I've seen a few times this morning.

"Yeah. I kind of worked that out from your conversation."

He chuckles as he stands, then reaches for my hand and pulls me up to my feet. He's two steps below the one I'm on, so I'm looking down at him slightly.

"This has been…really nice," he says.

"It really has," I agree.

For a moment, we just stand there, looking at each other, smiling. And then, once again, we're speaking at the same time.

"Do you have plans for…" he says.

"Look, would you like to…" I say.

We both stop. And laugh.

"Go ahead," he says.

"No, you first," I counter.

He nods. "Okay. Me first. Well then… I was wondering if you already had plans. For dinner, I mean. There's a White Sox-Mariners game on tonight at 7:30 that Masen wanted to watch. We were going to try to get a bite to eat someplace where we could also catch the game on TV. Maybe you'd like to join us?"

"Oh…um…" I'm nodding but I don't know what to say. He's chewing a little at his lip, waiting for my more complete reply, but all I can envision is the loud crowd over at the Tavern Bar and Grill. But still, it's a little more time to get to know this man I once knew so well.

"What were you going to ask, Bella?" he says in a low voice as he moves up to the step just below mine. We're practically eye to eye now and so much closer suddenly, but then he leans against the wooden railing on the side and I can breathe normally once again.

"I was going to ask if you'd maybe like to…have dinner here. With me. And with your son, too, of course. I mean, if he wouldn't mind. I was thinking, you've probably been eating all your meals out for the last… What…seven days?" He nods. "I thought maybe you'd like a home-cooked meal for a change and that would be a good way for me to sort of thank you, you know, for doing the yard."

I'm babbling. I know I'm babbling and I feel stupid. But then I see the look in Edward's eyes and I think he looks almost…_delighted_. But then he sort of stifles that look.

"I uh...I really don't want to put you out, Bella…" he says, shaking his head.

"You wouldn't be. It's been a while since I've had a reason to really cook anything nice, you know? It would be my pleasure."

"Are you sure?" he asks doubtfully.

"I'm positive, Edward. You know I like to cook."

He nods. "Would you mind if Masen watched the game over here?"

"Heck no! You saw that giant flatscreen TV my dad put in the living room. There's even surround-sound, so you can feel the highlights of a sports event all the way through your body."

Edward laughs. "Well, okay. I guess. If you're sure." He eyes me carefully.

"I am. Just check with your son before you commit. You can call me or text me when you know either way."

He nods. And then he gives me that killer crooked smile. "I'd need to have your phone number to do that, Bella."

"Oh, yeah." I blush as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. I don't know why, but this is starting to feel like a date…or a hook-up…or a something. And if he would just wipe that damn smile off his face maybe I wouldn't feel like a silly teenager.

"Go ahead. Give me your cell phone number first," he says.

I rattle off my cell phone number and he inputs it into his phone.

"And the house phone?" he asks a moment later.

I tell him that number as well, and he inputs it, nodding and murmuring, "Oh, yeah, that's right," as he does so.

Then he looks back up with a smile. "I guess I'll call you or text you as soon as I know, okay?"

"Okay. Great."

We head back up the porch steps, and when Edward reaches out to get the door I feel fingertips on my back, ushering me inside.

* * *

**A/N: I would love to hear your thoughts!**


	19. Dinner for Three?

**Indelible**

**A/N: **If you review, I will reply! :)

* * *

**Chapter-19 Dinner for Three?**

She waits out front as I climb into the truck and I think she's as glad as I am that we had the unexpected opportunity to talk a little more today. I feel such remorse for what my actions and inaction so many years ago made her feel and think. If I could go back and fix that, I would do it in a heartbeat. At least a few misperceptions have been set to right and I'm leaving on a more positive note today. We're not merely watching each other bleakly as I go, instead we both wave and smile. And as I drive back up the street my eyes hold onto her in the rearview mirror, standing on her porch and watching.

I'm hoping Masen will be receptive to the idea of dinner together. He's usually pretty cooperative and easy-going, but dinner for three at the home of his father's former girlfriend might be a lot to ask of a teen. He'll probably be more receptive to our dinner arrangements if I let him make the lunch arrangements, so it looks like he's going to get his big Glop-of-Blah burrito after all.

*I*

I feel a small stab of regret as Edward's truck turns the corner. Of course I'm hopeful this wasn't goodbye. I'm hoping he'll return this evening because I'd like more time to get to know him again and I am curious to meet his son. But considering what my own reaction would have been at seventeen—if given the option to have dinner with Charlie and a former flame of his—it seems a little unlikely I'll be seeing Edward again.

Back in the house I look around for something to do, trying to ignore the fact that I'm already waiting for a phone call to decide the rest of my day. I rearrange the throw pillows on the couch and pick up this morning's newspaper and add it to the recycling bin in the kitchen. Then I rinse out our lemonade bottles and add them to the recycling bin too. As I close the cupboard door, my cell phone begins vibrating on the kitchen counter.

I dart over to pick it up, but it's not Edward. Instead it's Angela's smiling face I see on the screen.

"Hi, Angela." I can tell she's at The Cup and Saucer—someone is steaming milk in the background.

"Hey, Bella. I've been going crazy wondering, so I figured I'd just call and ask. Did you call him?"

"Edward? No. Well, I was going to, but… Angela, he just…showed up. He didn't think I'd be home and he came to mow the lawn for me."

"He did?! What a nice thing to do."

"Yeah, it really was. And we had the chance to talk, which was good. But listen, would you mind if I called you back in a little bit?"

"Oh gosh! Is he still there?" she whispers, as if he might overhear.

"No, but I invited him and his son for dinner and he's going to call once he's had a chance to run the idea by him."

"Oh! Do you want me to call you back on your house phone?"

"Um…no… I gave Edward both numbers and now I don't know which line he'll use. If he calls and gets a busy signal I don't want him thinking I immediately phoned someone to discuss his visit."

I hear her laugh. "I see. Well, in case you're interested, I'd be more than happy to swing by the house to discuss his visit—and your dinner plans—in_ person_. He would _never_ know." I grin at the sound of her voice, tempting me to do her evil bidding.

"How quickly can you get here?" I ask.

"See you in ten! Oh, I'm so excited!"

"Angela, it's not like we're planning a date!"

She doesn't respond.

"Angela? Hello?"

I look at my phone. She's already hung up. She's probably sprinting out the door.

I head upstairs, deciding I can start a load of laundry while I wait for her arrival.

Returning downstairs a short while later, I see a familiar white mini-van pull up on the street outside and park. By the time I open the front door, Angela is coming up the walkway, still wearing her burgundy barista's apron with its gold cup and saucer logo on the front.

"I could have waited fifteen more seconds if you wanted to take off your apron first," I tell her as she climbs the steps.

She looks down at herself and laughs. "I didn't even think about it! And I didn't think to bring you a coffee either!"

"Some friend you are," I huff. I'm joking of course. I don't know what I'd do without her.

She smiles and gets right down to business. "Have you heard from him?"

"Not yet. But… I don't know, Angela… I'm thinking the situation might be be too awkward for his son."

"Does he know who you are? That you were Edward's girlfriend?"

I shrug. "I have no idea what Edward has told him, but he left him on his own yesterday during the funeral and afterwards, and then again today, so I'm guessing he knows something. Right?"

"Probably." Angela nods. "Will Edward still come if his son doesn't?"

"We didn't discuss that but I would feel bad. They're on a father-son, cross-country trip. It's not like his son can just go hang out with friends if he doesn't want to join his dad."

"Well, maybe Edward will… " She's interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone.

"Is that him?" she asks as I look at the screen. I nod and answer the call, giving her an eye-roll when she clasps her hands—it looks like she's praying.

"Hi, Edward."

"_Hi, Bella. So, I talked to Masen and it looks like we're on for dinner. Unless you're having second thoughts?" _

"Second thoughts? No."

Angela frowns and shakes her head, silently vouching for me.

"Why? Are you having second thoughts, Edward?"

Angela shoots the phone a dirty look.

"_Me? No. Not at all."_ There's a smile in his voice…which makes me smile…which makes Angela smile…so now we're all good.

_"I just wanted to make sure you hadn't changed your mind, Bella. So, what time would you like us?"_

"How about around six-ish?" Since it's now obvious from my question that dinner is a go, Angela gives me two thumbs' up and a wide grin. I'm tempted to give her a shove. It's just a casual dinner, after all. Instead I look away. If she makes me laugh, Edward will think I've lost my mind.

"_Six-ish is fine. Can I bring anything?"_

"Just bring yourselves."

"_All right. I can manage that. But if you think of something you'd like me to bring, please let me know." _

Once we say our goodbyes and end the call, I finally dare to look back at Angela. Her warm, dark eyes are twinkling. This isn't good.

"What?!" I demand.

"My gut tells me Edward isn't married," she says, surprising me.

"No. He's divorced. But I don't know the particulars. And he's returning to Chicago tomorrow. I'm just inviting him to dinner to thank him for doing the yard, so don't go getting any wild ideas."

"I would never!" she protests with a laugh. But I can see the gears turning. I don't know what she's thinking, and I have a feeling I don't _want_ to know what she's thinking, so I'm not asking.

"So… um… Well, what are you going to make for dinner?"

I doubt her question has anything to do with what she was thinking, but something suddenly occurs to me.

"Shoot! I should have asked Edward if there was anything I shouldn't make."

"So, call him back."

"And have you act out my half of the conversation? No. I'll just text him." She snorts a laugh as I compose my text.

**You're not vegetarians, are you? Does your son have any allergies or food intolerances I should know about? **

I press send and look at Angela. "Whatever I make, I have to go to the grocery store."

"I can take you. I'll drive while you fill me in. Get your things and we'll go."

I head off to the kitchen for my purse and as I return my phone chimes with Edward's reply.

**He's an allergy-free omnivore like me, and he doesn't tolerate pork chops well—but only because they stir up memories of the Great Pork Chop Debacle of 2006.**

I giggle out loud and text him back as Angela and I head out the front door.

**Pork chops weren't even on the horizon, but now I'm tempted to make them, just to see what happens. **

As I buckle up in the passenger seat of Angela's van, I get Edward's response.

**We might be okay, considering you're cooking, not me, and he's no longer nine years old. **

I laugh and read our exchange to Angela as she starts the van.

"Poor Daddyward," she laughs. "Sounds like someone had a memorable dinnertime meltdown."

I type my reassurance to Edward as Angela pulls away from the curb.

**In the interest of all concerned, dinner will be pork-chop-free.** **See you tonight. **

Just as I'm about to tuck my phone in my purse, it chimes a final reply.

**I'm looking forward to it.**

*I*

By the time we return and Angela helps me carry groceries inside, I've told her about my morning with Edward and all his revelations. Steadfast friend that she is, her reactions were much the same as mine, now that we're seeing the past from a new angle.

"Promise you'll call tomorrow and let me know how it went," Angela says as I walk her to her van.

"I will, though I'm impressed you're willing to wait that long."

"Well, hopefully you won't notice me sitting on the curb across the street tonight, aiming my binoculars at your front window." She grins and gives me a quick hug. "I'll be thinking of you. And I'll love you forever if you save me some leftovers."

"Consider it done. Thanks for the grocery run. And for listening."

*I*

Fitz begins barking as soon as the doorbell rings a couple minutes after six.

I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I've been thinking about that last text from Edward. Mostly I'm wondering if he has been looking forward to this evening while his son has not. I have visions of a bored-out-of-his-mind teenager, coerced into a dinner he'd rather avoid, sighing repeatedly, impatient for the evening to end. I tell Fitz to hush as I nudge him aside and open the door.

Once again, I'm struck by how truly deep the Cullen gene pool runs.

Dressed in jeans and zip-up sweatshirts, Edward and his son are of nearly equal height and build, though Masen has the lankier look of a youth whose weight is still catching up to his height. Their hair is a variation on a theme: Edward's shorter and slightly darker bronze compared to his son's lighter and longer, more burnished hue. And though their eye colors differ—Edward's green to his son's blue—their striking, strong-jawed faces nearly match.

And then it hits me abruptly why that is.

Edward has shaved.

I have to confess, I did like that scruffy beard and mustache, but his appearance now is less solemn and more youthful. He just looks lighter and happier.

"Hey, Bella," Edward says, flashing me a warm smile.

"Hi. Come in," I say, returning his smile as they file inside.

"This is my son, Masen," Edward says. And then he turns to his son. "Masen, I'd like you to meet Isabella Swan."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Masen. And please call me Bella."

I search for reluctance in the blue eyes looking back at me, but I can't find any. All I see is a friendly curiosity, reminding me of that flicker of recognition I thought I saw the other morning at The Cup and Saucer. Again I wonder what this boy knows.

"It's nice to meet you…Bella." He extends his hand to shake mine, his formal gesture a little unexpected, coming from a teenager. But Edward's parents raised a well-mannered boy, so why would Edward do any differently?

Our handshake sets Fitz off into another barking frenzy, but when Edward stoops to pay him a little attention, he quits barking and wags at his butt-scratcher-ball-thrower friend.

"This is _Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy_," Edward says, looking up at his son with a smirk.

"Oh… _Pride and Prejudice_," Masen says with a thoughtful nod. Noticing my look of surprise he adds, "We read that in my Honors British Lit class earlier this year. A lot of the girls in class sure liked that novel—and Mr. Darcy." He doesn't volunteer his own opinion of that romance classic but he's a seventeen year-old boy and given Edward's smirk, I can guess and I smile.

Addressing Masen, I nod toward Fitz. "He's just _Fitz_, for short and don't let his barking worry you. He wants you to think he's in charge but he's really just my personal assistant."

Masen chuckles as he stoops down next to his father, letting Fitz sniff his hand and get acquainted.

Edward pats his son on the back and stands upright, hefting a grocery bag. Raking his free hand through his hair, he gives me an uncertain look.

"I hated to show up empty-handed, so I thought I'd bring a bottle of wine. But I wasn't sure whether to get red or white…so I got both. And in case you don't care for wine, I also picked up a 4-pack of those lemonades we had earlier."

"Well, thank you," I tell him, smiling as I peek into the bag. "The red will go well with dinner. After _Bella Italia_ restaurant came up in conversation this morning, I was craving Italian. It's not quite done cooking yet, but I made lasagna—I hope that's okay?" I glance from Edward to his son, now scratching Fitz.

"It smells awesome," Masen observes, giving me the crooked smile he has clearly inherited from Edward.

"It _is _awesome," Edward affirms, nodding to his son and giving me the dreamy smile of a true former fan.

"Well, I'm glad I thought to make an old favorite then. I considered making pork chops, but I heard they weren't a great choice."

"Oh my god, Dad," Masen says, rolling his eyes at Edward as he stands. "You told her the pork chop story?"

Edward chuckles at his son's indignation. "I only alluded to it. Bella wanted to know if you had any food intolerances, so I told her you're intolerant of pork chops."

Masen quirks a brow as he looks at me. "Did he tell you why?"

"No, but I have to admit I'm curious."

"If you were a little kid, would you want to eat pork chops smothered in green beans and _salsa_?" His tone of voice conveys his opinion.

Glancing at Edward, I laugh. "Probably not. It doesn't sound great."

"It was disgusting!" Masen confirms. "And I had to stay at the dinner table until I'd gagged down a third of it."

"It was supposed to be a healthy meal!" Edward laughs, defending himself. "And it wasn't _that_ bad. Then again, it honestly wasn't that _good_," he allows. He shakes his head. "But the battle of wills at that dinner table was memorable. And really rather pointless. We were both miserable by the meal's end and I never forced anything on him again."

"Lasagna sounds…and smells…way better than Dad's Atrocious Pork Chop Surprise," Masen says happily.

"Well, I'm glad I made the right choice then," I tell him.

Sweatshirts are dispatched to hooks in the entryway, leaving Edward in a black polo shirt and Masen in a gray University of Washington T-shirt.

"Hey, I like your shirt," I tell Masen. "Go, Huskies."

He looks down and grins. "Thanks. I got this when we went there the other day."

They follow me to the kitchen, where I invite Masen to check out the drink choices in the refrigerator. Edward uncorks our wine while I retrieve glasses.

"So, what did you think of the university?" I ask Masen as I pour his soda over ice.

"I liked it. I'm looking forward to starting this summer. That place is huge. I guess you know that. Dad told me you studied journalism there."

"I did. It was a big school back then, but I imagine it's even bigger and more spread out now. Think you'll be able to find your way around?"

Masen nods. "Yeah, definitely. We cruised around on bikes after we met with my advisor. I got a good idea of the layout and what was nearby."

"I figured we'd explore a little together before he's on his own there," Edward tells me. "Mase thought I was crazy when I suggested bringing bicycles along on the trip."

"I thought you were crazy _and_ overprotective," Masen interjects.

"And now…?" Edward prompts.

"And now…I _still_ think you're overprotective, but bringing the bikes was a good idea." Masen shoots me that crooked little smirk he shares with his father and takes a sip of his soda.

We take our drinks out onto the porch to wait while dinner finishes. The porch swing catches Masen's eye and Edward and I take two other chairs nearby. Fitz accompanies us, but after a moment trots down the steps to the yard.

"This yard is way bigger than ours," Masen observes, looking around. "It's a lot to mow," he adds, and it's clear he knows Edward was here earlier. His expression falters though. "Oh, um… My dad told me about your dad... I'm sorry."

I feel Edward's eyes on me, probably worrying I'll get teary, but I'm okay and I don't want to make them uncomfortable.

"Thank you," I tell Masen. "Yeah, it's going to take some getting used to."

He nods. "Was that him in the photo in the living room?" he asks. "The graduation picture?"

"Oh, yeah." I smile, remembering I'd put the photos from the funeral out on display. "That was taken at my graduation from the university. That will be _your_ dad with _you_ in a U-Dub cap and gown before you know it."

Masen smiles at the prospect and the awkward moment has passed. "That's such a long way off," he says.

"He has to make it through his high school graduation first." Edward says.

Masen gives him a mischievous look. "Because you never know…I might flunk out in the next month."

"You do, and that early graduation gift out front is mine," Edward shoots right back with a matching mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You're not getting my truck back!" Masen laughs.

"Time will tell," Edward replies with mock seriousness.

"So that black truck is yours?" I ask Masen. I'd just assumed it was Edward's.

"For now." Edward answers on his son's behalf as Masen snorts another laugh.

"He really enjoys the outdoors," Edward says of his son. "He enjoys biking, rock-climbing, camping… I figured he needed something to cart gear around and transport things between here and home. A truck seemed the logical choice for a first car of his own and it worked out well for this trip."

Our conversation is interrupted when Fitz returns, dropping a tennis ball at Edward's feet. He stands there, wagging, giving Edward his most engaging doggy smile until Edward picks up the ball, sits a little taller, and lobs the ball out into the corner of the yard.

When Fitz tears after it like a bat out of hell, Masen grins and stands, watching him. "He likes to play fetch, huh?"

"He does," Edward says, "He's especially good at the _fetching _aspect but not too good about bringing the ball back. He prefers to taunt you with it once he retrieves it." Edward gives me an amused look and I know he's remembering this morning, when I watched him playing in the yard with Fitz.

"You're welcome to try your luck," I tell Masen when Fitz returns to the foot of the steps, wagging invitingly with the ball bulging out of the side of his mouth.

And so Masen heads down the steps, doing his best to cajole the ball from Fitz, who darts off at the last moment. Masen stalks after him, his laughter sounding so much like Edward's as Fitz zigs and zags across the yard like a nutcase. Finally Masen squats and waits patiently, managing to talk Fitz into dropping the ball so he can throw it for him.

The oven timer goes off in the kitchen and I stand. "It'll take me about ten minutes to get dinner on the table," I tell Edward.

I hear him relay the time-frame to his son and then I realize he is following me in, carrying our wineglasses. "What can I do?" he asks as he moves to the sink to wash his hands.

"The bread has to go in the oven for ten minutes." I nod over my shoulder to the pan on the stovetop.

Taking the lasagna out and setting it on the counter, I spot Edward's business card lying nearby. It reminds me of something I wanted to ask.

"I was wondering what kind of law you practice—your card just says, _Attorney at Law_. Do you work for a firm or are you in business for yourself?"

Edward adjusts the oven timer and turns to me, leaning against the counter while I get the salad from the fridge.

"Technically, I work for the largest firm in Chicago…" He gives me a lopsided smile but quickly clarifies what he means. "I work for the state."

It takes me a moment. "Oh… So...you're a prosecutor? You go after the bad guys?"

He chuckles. "Uh, yes and no. I _am_ a prosecutor but I don't actually go after the bad guys anymore." He pulls his wallet from his back pocket. Opening it, he takes out a more elaborate business card than the one he gave me yesterday. "I was hired out of law school as an Assistant State's Attorney—a prosecutor—but then I got involved in _this_ several years later and switched my focus." He hands me the new card and I read what's printed next to an elaborate state seal:

_State of Illinois _

_Cook's County State's Attorney's Office_

_Victims/Witness Assistance Unit_

_Edward A. Cullen_

A Chicago address, a series of telephone numbers, and an email address follow.

I'm surprised. It's not at all what I expected. But that's not what comes out of my mouth.

"Why do you have two business cards? And why didn't you give me this one yesterday?"

Hi mouth curves into a soft smile. "The one I gave you has my personal cell phone number and home number on it—since the situation wasn't work-related. This card doesn't have those private numbers."

"Oh." I look back at the new card. "I have to confess I'm really not familiar with this program. I've never been involved in a crime. I mean, I've never been the _victim_ of a crime. Obviously I've never been a _felon_."

Edward stifles a smile and I feel embarrassed for how stupid that must have sounded, so I turn back to the salad, mixing in ingredients I prepped earlier. I hear Edward clear his throat before he begins explaining.

"Well, it's not the slickest, most lucrative law career I could have chosen, but it has its own rewards. It's a prosecutor-based program to assist people affected by crimes. Wading through the legal system can be confusing and stressful for someone already traumatized by the crime itself. We help them through the process, advocating for them and offering support, counseling and guidance." He pauses. "There's a lot of human collateral when a crime is committed—the victims and witnesses, obviously, but also family members and loved ones are left feeling vulnerable and reeling."

Something in his voice makes me stop what I'm doing and turn to him. From the corner of my eye I catch a movement at the screen door and I look to see Masen, returning inside.

"Are you telling her about what happened to Grandpa?" he asks quietly.

My eyes dart to Edward's in alarm. "What happened to your dad?"

"I was just explaining what I do," he says to his son before addressing me.

"This happened over a decade ago. Dad was returning from dinner with a colleague when he stumbled upon two thugs trying to break into his car."

"Oh, no…!"

"Yeah. They beat him up…badly." His eyes flicker briefly to his son's. "He recovered but…it was bad. They took everything of value on him and stole his car. Luckily someone saw and called it in and by the time the ambulance got Dad to the hospital, the police had already apprehended his assailants. They were tried and convicted, and Dad's belongings were recovered, but it was a rough experience."

"Oh, Edward, I'm so sorry. Your poor dad! And your mom! How awful for _all_ of you."

He nods again. "I was still pretty green as a prosecutor when it happened, but at least I understood the court system and could be there to help my parents during the legal process."

"So that's why you got involved with that program," I say more than ask.

"Yeah. It's hard enough for victims to have to relive the experience again in court. Very few of them have a personal liaison like my parents did in me to assist them."

"What you went through with your family must give you tremendous insight into what others go through."

"It does. And they're a little more open about their needs, when they know you've been in their shoes."

"I'm glad your father was okay. I mean, it could have been worse…"

"Yeah, I know. Thankfully, Dad mended." He shakes his head but then his mouth curves into a little smile. "When it happened, I think he was most concerned about getting his wedding band back." Edward flexes the fingers of his left hand and looks at the gold ring there. "And this one."

"That was your dad's?" I ask, taking a closer look at the engraving on what I'd thought was his wedding ring.

"And his dad's…and his dad's," Edward responds. "It's a family coat of arms. I'll pass it on to Mase someday…probably."

I glance at Masen and smile. He's shaking his head and smiling good-naturedly at his father's teasing.

*I*

We're seated around the table a few minutes later and Edward and his son are both humming and moaning appreciatively at their meal. I think I might have even seen their eyes rolling back in their heads. They're making me giggle but I'm glad they're enjoying what I've prepared.

"This is seriously the best lasagna I've ever had," Masen groans as he forks up another bite.

Edward nods his head in agreement as he chews. "Bella's lasagna is…legendary," he finally says after swallowing.

"I'm not sure it's _legendary_," I say with a laugh. "Although it does go quickly at potlucks."

"That's because it's _legendary_," Edward maintains. "_Everything_ is delicious, Bella. The garlic bread and the salad, too."

"Isn't _Bella_ an Italian name? Are you Italian?" Masen asks. Of course he might think that, given the meal I've prepared.

"It is, but I'm not. My mom just liked the name. And I didn't learn to cook from her—I learned to cook _in spite of _her—she's a disaster in the kitchen." He laughs and Edward smirks because he knows—he's sampled Mom's fare and it's fair at best.

"Since there were no favorite family recipes growing up, I've always been a recipe collector," I explain to Masen. "I was maybe thirteen when I got this lasagna recipe from a friend's mom in Phoenix. Gianna's mother _was_ Italian." Turning to Edward, since he'll know them, I add, "And we're eating Jessica Newton's _legendary_ 5-Cheese Roasted Garlic Bread and Sue Clearwater's _legendary_ Italian Country Salad with pine nuts, goat cheese and sun-dried tomatoes. I'm not sure where their recipes came from, I'm just grateful they were willing to pass them on to me."

"We're tremendously grateful as well," Edward says, smiling widely as he stabs his fork into his salad. Masen just hums in agreement as he chews on a hunk of bread.

During our meal I ask them about their trip from Chicago to Forks. They fill me in on the particulars—the route they took and points of interest along the way.

"I thought the drive sounded pretty exciting," Masen says. "But that was before I realized what thirty hours of driving actually felt like. I'm not looking forward to that drive back," he adds. "Three days of driving—about ten hours each—gets really dull really fast. And it's a lot more exhausting than you'd think."

I smile at him. "I think when you're a new driver, driving a long distance sounds like fun. When you're older and are faced with a long trip, that's when you really appreciate the time you save by taking a flight."

He nods and I look over to Edward but he seems lost in thought, frowning a little as he sits there chewing on his lip. I wonder what he's contemplating, but he must feel me looking at him because he suddenly looks up and blinks.

"That's certainly true," he agrees.

*I*

As we near the end of our meal I start thinking about the baseball game they wanted to watch on TV.

"So, which team are you two rooting for tonight?" I ask them. "The Seattle Mariners or the Chicago White Sox? I'm going to take a wild guess that it's the White Sox."

"Well, Masen's definitely a fan of his home team…" Edward says.

"But Dad likes the Mariners," Masen finishes. "Did you know he had a pitching coach in high school who used to play for the Mariners?" he asks me.

Edward and I exchange a smile.

"I actually _did _know that," I tell Masen.

"Wait…" He gives me a wide-eyed look. "Was that _you_? I mean, not that you coached him, but you're the one who knew someone…?"

I look at Edward once again and we both exhale a soft laugh.

"She's the one," Edward affirms.

"My stepdad used to play in the minors," I begin. "Actually, he's still in the minors, but he's coaching now. Anyway, he knew a retired pro pitcher, named Jay Jenks, who lived south of here and coached a college team. My stepdad helped get _your_ dad hooked up with some extra practice time."

Masen grins hugely from me to Edward and back. "That's so _cool_."

"Yeah, it really was _quite_ cool," Edward agrees quietly. "And it was all so very…_unexpected_," he adds, giving me a soft smile.

Masen sits there, looking from his father to me, just smiling away. After a moment he clears his throat.

"You know, I saw you the other day," he tells me. "It was right before we left for the university," he adds, glancing briefly at Edward before looking back at me. "I was leaving that little coffee shop on Main Street and you were coming in. I was on the verge of dropping everything and you got the door for me."

I nod and smile at him. "I remember that. That was at The Cup and Saucer. I did a double-take because I was stunned when I saw you. You looked so much like your dad—I thought for sure I was seeing a ghost from the past."

He chuckles. "Grandma always calls me a chip off the _old_ block." He emphasizes the word 'old' as he jerks his head in Edward's direction.

"Anyway, I recognized you," Masen continues. "I saw photos of you not too long ago back in Chicago."

Edward's fork clatters to his plate. It seems he's as surprised by this revelation as am I.

* * *

**A/N: Hmmm… Hope to hear from you!**


	20. The Change-Up Pitch

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Hope you like it. Don't forget you can review and let me know one way or the other. :)

* * *

**Chapter-20: The Change-Up Pitch**

All afternoon it's been obvious Edward has told his son bits of information about me. But judging by his physical response to Masen's comment, it seems clear Edward has never shown him any photos. Naturally I'm curious about whatever photos Masen has seen but I'm truly baffled by Edward's reaction. He's surprised. But it's more than that. He's gone still as a statue and I can see a look of alarm in his eyes. I don't get it. It's not like there are nude photos of me floating around out there—I certainly never had that kind of self-confidence.

"You… You've seen photos of me?" I ask Masen, aware Edward seems to be holding his breath.

Masen's eyes shift hesitantly between Edward and me. "Uh, yeah… At my grandparents' house."

Edward exhales. But then his brows knit together. "When was this?" he asks, picking up the fork he'd dropped.

Masen shrugs. "A couple weeks ago. You had that work thing to attend and I went over to their house for dinner. We were talking about end-of-the-year stuff at school and Grandma wondered if I was planning on going to prom. I told her I wasn't sure and she said I shouldn't miss out on the opportunity. She called it a… " He pauses, frowning to himself.

"A _rite of passage_?" Edward quietly suggests. Soft green eyes flicker to mine. His smile is equally as soft. And maybe a little nostalgic. I feel certain he's remembering using that same turn of phrase when he asked me to prom. I smile at him and the shared memory, and then, feeling the warmth of a blush in my cheeks, I distract myself with my salad.

"Yeah, that's it. That's what she called it," Masen says. "A _rite of passage_. How did you know?" His brow furrows and Edward smiles.

"Your grandma gave me the same speech about prom when I was your age." His eyes flicker back to mine. "But I already had plans to ask someone…and fortunately for me, she turned out to be agreeable."

"Oh." Masen grins, glancing from his father to me, and I reach for my wine as my blush dials up a notch. Thankfully, Masen's gaze settles back on Edward.

"So yeah…about that particular rite of passage… Grandma dug out an old photo album to show me how _handsome_ you looked when you went to prom." His eyes twinkle with amusement and I realize those must have been Esme's own words. "That's where I saw the photos of you," he continues. "You know…of both of you. Together." He smiles, looking at me once again but I'm more focused on the sensation of Edward's eyes on me and I only belatedly think to nod at Masen.

Edward clears his throat. "So, what did you decide?" he asks, addressing his son.

"About prom?" Masen asks.

Edward shakes his head. "No. About me being _handsome_." Edward shoots me a crooked little smile and a wink and I'm thankful for the shift in mood as Masen bursts into laughter.

He shakes his head. "You're so weird sometimes, Dad."

And then he shrugs, his eyes twinkling. "But since you asked, and since you looked just like me in that photo, ofcourse you looked handsome." His grin broadens when we laugh at his comment.

"Whew! Is anybody else feeling that oppressive self-esteem in the room?" I fan myself with my hands and they both laugh at my teasing remark.

"Anyway, that's how I recognized you at the coffee shop," Masen tells me. "I thought you looked kind of familiar and then I realized where I'd seen your face—you were the girl in the prom photos with my dad."

"I see," I say with a nod and a smile. "Everything makes sense now."

Well, except for Edward's reaction when the photos were first mentioned.

*I*

Halfway through dinner Edward and his son tell me they think it's charming how Fitz rests his head on their thighs beneath the table. I snort a laugh and feel compelled to tell them they've been duped. Then I proceed to explain Fitz' stealth-begging technique—how he gradually increases the pressure of his head on a leg, all the while hoping a hand will appear, bearing food. When that doesn't happen, he gives up and moves to a different leg—a different person. Once they are aware of what is actually going on beneath the table, they find it hilarious and quite gentlemanly.

After we've had our fill of lasagna, bread and salad, Edward and Masen help clear the table while I make Fitz his doggy-dinner. He does an anticipatory, clickity-tap-dance of happiness when I add scraps of lasagna to his bowl—but we all know he's had his doggy-fingers crossed the whole time we've been eating.

Piling our own plates in the sink with a little dish soap, I follow Edward and Masen into the living room and turn on the TV. It's game time and the dishes can wait. For now, we're going to watch the Seattle Mariners and the Chicago White Sox battle it out at Safeco Field.

Masen takes a seat on one end of the couch and Edward joins him on the opposite end, leaving me to sit in Dad's old recliner. It's a shame too. I've got the best seat in the house to watch the game and I'm undoubtedly the least avid baseball fan in attendance. My box seat does, however, afford me a good view of the festival of handsome taking up two-thirds of the couch.

Fitz wanders in from the kitchen, capping off the end of the televised pre-game National Anthem with a dog-burp. He stands next to my chair and I reach over to pat him, but he doesn't stay long. Instead he ambles over to stare beseechingly at the matched pair of Cullens who have come to visit.

I see how it is. Fitz is one of the guys and he'd rather hang with the guys.

Masen folds his long legs up and leans forward to pet Fitz and ruffle up his ears. Fitz inches forward with intent.

"Is he allowed on the furniture?" Masen asks, falling victim to Fitz' wiles.

"Yeah. I don't mind if you don't," I tell him with a shrug. "I gave up trying to teach him the concept of _not_ being allowed on the furniture a long time ago. He'll just stand there and stare a hole through your head until you can't take it any longer and invite him up. His persistence is brilliant, really."

Masen grins. He turns to look inquiringly at Edward.

"I don't mind," Edward assures him with a shrug before glancing over at me and smiling. His eyes return to his son and I see the love there as he watches the kid inside his almost adult boy interacting with my dog.

Masen moves his legs out of the way and pats the couch between Edward and himself. "Come on up, Fitz," he says encouragingly. "Don't be shy."

Fitz needs little encouragement and he certainly doesn't turn down an invitation like that. He jumps right up into the slightly too-small-for-him space between them, and after circling around, plops into place with a huff—with his butt toward Edward and his head on Masen's lap. I laugh outright at the expression on Edward's face.

"Uh…I didn't realize I'd be getting this particular end," Edward complains with a chuckle—but he starts butt-scratching just like Fitz assumed he would.

Masen laughs. "Who's a good dog?" he croons, throwing a smirk at his father. "Who's a good, good dog, Fitz?" he asks again, looking down at Fitz as he pets his head.

Fitz sighs, unable to believe his good fortune, and I just smile at the entertaining and eye-catching tableau sprawled across that couch.

*I*

When Seattle scores the first run, Edward reaches across the back of the couch and pats Masen's shoulder in a fatherly fashion. When they score a second run, he turns to him and smiles, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"You're going down, Son," he says pleasantly.

Masen snorts and shakes his head, and when the Sox go up by two in the next inning, he turns a cheery face to Edward and announces, "I feel a win coming on, Old Man."

Their banter keeps up as the game progresses and our conversation in between covers a variety of topics…

They ate burritos from the taquería for lunch today and I laugh when Edward makes eye contact and grimaces while Masen's head is turned. Masen tells me they took their burritos to go and ate at up at the high school on a picnic table since it's spring break and no one was around. Edward gave him a tour of the grounds afterwards and Masen says it was weird, imagining his dad being his age and walking those same halls and playing on that baseball field. Edward can't believe all the new buildings, though some of the older buildings, including the science wing—and specifically our old Biology classroom—looked much the same.

Somehow we get onto the topic of cars. Edward can't feature me driving a green Volkswagen Jetta. He just can't picture it. I tell him that's what's in the garage—he can check if he'd like. I tell him I've actually been driving Charlie's blue Toyota Tacoma pick-up truck a lot lately. He gives me a soft smile and tells me that sounds more like it—but I can see he gets it. He winds up telling Masen about my red Chevy pick-up back in high school and Masen thinks it's awesome I drove such an old behemoth.

I learn that Edward drives a dark gray Volvo SUV nowadays—which Masen calls his soccer-mom car. Edward reminds him that he _was_ Masen's _soccer-mom_ as well as his _baseball-dad_ but I notice there's no mention of an actual mom. Instead the conversation veers on to the fact that Masen plays on his high school's varsity soccer and baseball teams.

Masen admits he doesn't have his dad's pitching arm, but says he's fast like his dad was. Edward scoffs at that, asserting that he is _still_ fast and Masen grudgingly agrees because they actually run together a couple days a week. They also work out in their home gym—which is housed in what was previously their formal dining room. Edward grins sheepishly when I giggle at that revelation, but he goes on to explain that he and his son—as bachelors—don't do much in the way of formal entertaining.

*I*

After about an hour of baseball, banter, and conversation, the score is tied up at four and I offer dessert. I describe what I'm planning to dish up and they both begin smiling and humming appreciatively, so I can tell they're on board with the concept.

In the kitchen I get three containers of gelato from the freezer and a bottle of water for Masen from the fridge. After starting a pot of coffee for Edward and me, I begin scooping gelato into bowls. I become aware of Edward and his son speaking in low voices in the next room, though I can't hear what they're discussing over the volume of the TV. Their conversation doesn't seem to concern the game and I wonder what they're talking about, though it obviously isn't my business, and I'm certainly not going to eavesdrop. Instead I focus on what I'm doing.

I give them larger portions than I give myself, but we each get three scoops of gelato: dark chocolate chip, black cherry amaretto, and pistachio. Once that's assembled, I crush up some chocolate chips and pistachios and sprinkle them on top, and voila—Cheater's Spumoni!

Heading to the living room with their bowls and Masen's water, I overhear Edward tell his son, 'Think about it and let me know.' Their conversation ceases when I appear. Instead they ooh and ahh at the simple dessert I hand them, but as I return to the kitchen for my bowl and our coffees, I hear Masen say, 'I can deal with that, Dad. It's fine.'

Back in the kitchen, I'm about to call out to Edward to ask how he takes his coffee, when he walks into the kitchen.

"Did you want more on top?" He blinks in confusion at my question so I nod toward the bowl in his hands. "You know…chocolate chips, pistachios?"

"Oh." He shakes his head and chuckles softly. "No. No, this is perfect, Bella, thanks." He sets his bowl down as I slide his coffee mug towards him. "I just came to ask if you maybe wanted to sit out back on the porch."

Now I'm the one blinking in confusion. I look past him, toward the living room. "What about the game?"

He shrugs as he adds a splash of creamer to his coffee. "I can watch a game anytime." He glances toward the living room. "And Masen will be fine. I have a feeling he'll keep us posted on major developments as the game continues." He smiles and it finally computes that it will be just the two of us, skipping the rest of tonight's game.

"Oh. Well…sure. I mean, if you think it's all right with him."

"It is." He smiles. "Trust me, he won't think we're abandoning him."

I nod. "Okay, then. It'll be a little chilly but there's a patio space heater Charlie installed above the porch swing."

"I noticed that earlier," he says, smiling as he stirs his coffee. "I'll go grab us something warmer to put on." He nods toward the living room.

"Sure. Thanks." And I stand there, stirring my coffee, thinking about what he said—he can watch a game anytime. And then I think about what went unsaid—our opportunity to get to know one another again is drawing to a close.

"Bella? Which jacket do you want?" Edward calls out from the front entryway.

I walk to the kitchen doorway and see him pulling on his sweatshirt by the front door. "The navy sweatshirt on the last hook is fine," I tell him.

Masen, eating his ice cream on the couch, looks up at the sound of my voice and smiles. It's a curious smile and it's a knowing smile and I'm struck suddenly by the absurdity of the situation. This is the alternate universe version of my dad siting in the living room, watching a ballgame, while young Edward and Bella sneak out back with dessert to escape parental supervision. I can't help wondering what this boy thinks about his father and me ditching him to go sit on the porch. In the chilly night air. With ice cream. Gelato. Same thing.

Luckily, Fitz captures my attention and focus. If he leans any closer to Masen's bowl, he'll have his head in it—and that's probably his goal.

"Fitz! Off!" I scold. "Bad dog!" He scoots back and looks away in embarrassment.

"You can sit on the recliner if you want," I tell Masen. "It's probably hard to enjoy your dessert with a vulture perched on your lap."

Masen laughs. "I'm okay here. I just feel kind of rude eating in front of him."

"Well, just ignore him. He's hoping it'll get to you. I'm pretty sure he practices making pitiful facial expressions when no one's home."

He laughs again as Edward hands me Charlie's old, navy Forks PD sweatshirt and ushers me back out to the kitchen. We transfer our coffees to thermal commuter mugs to keep them warm, and then we head out back with dessert.

I fire up the space heater but leave the porch light off. It's not like I have ulterior motives, sitting out here in the dark with Edward. It's just that the porch light is kind of distracting when you're inside watching TV—which I will admit worked out well for us as teens. But there's enough light thrown through the living room curtains and the last vestiges of twilight still cling to the sky.

Edward follows me to sit down on the old porch swing for the first time in two decades. He pushes with his feet, swinging us a little. I'm suddenly aware of just how close we are and I lean toward the arm rest on my side, wondering if he feels the awkwardness like I do.

"This feels kind of familiar," he observes in a low voice, before scooping a bit of black cherry gelato into his mouth.

"Yeah, it does," I agree, peeking over at him as I do the same. I feel hot suddenly but it's not the heater—it's his eyes. They're darker in the low light but they're kind of twinkly. Beautiful and twinkly.

"And it also feels kind of…_awkward_?" he suggests with a crooked smile, as he gathers another bite onto his spoon.

I laugh softly. "Yeah, that too. But maybe a little less so, now that you've put it out there and we can agree to agree."

He nods as I scoop up some pistachio gelato and I find myself relaxing into place a little. We're quiet for a moment, just enjoying our dessert.

From inside the living room we suddenly hear Masen's voice. "Oh my god! How can you not catch that?! What an idiot!"

"Damn White Sox," I say, shaking my head and spooning gelato into my mouth while Edward chuckles around his own mouthful.

"I told you he'd keep us posted on the game," he says after a moment.

"He's such a nice young man, Edward—personable, polite, funny, and obviously very intelligent. He's so much like his dad."

Edward smiles and looks down, "Well, thanks," he says and I wonder if he's blushing. "Yeah, he's a good kid. I've made my share of mistakes in life, but I clearly lucked out with him."

"I'm sure it was more a case of good parenting than sheer luck."

Edward nods. "That's probably true." He hesitates, drawing his spoon through his dessert. "I really have my mom to thank for much of that."

"Your… mom?" I didn't expect that and I wait, watching him in profile as he takes another bite of dessert. After a moment, he clears his throat.

"Yeah. Masen was just seven when my divorce was final."

"What…happened? I mean… I don't want to pry if you'd rather not say. I'm just…curious."

He shrugs. "No, it's all right." He seems to gather his thoughts and then he turns slightly, facing me more fully.

"Kate and I had been together less than a year when she got pregnant. At first, she thought about…terminating the pregnancy. But I couldn't help thinking, that's a _child _we're talking about…not a…_medical procedure_." He sighs and shrugs. "I guess it's the way I was brought up, with my dad being a doctor. And my mom…" He hesitates. "I don't think you knew this… After she had me, she had several miscarriages."

I shake my head. "No, I had no idea," I murmur.

He nods. "Yeah. That's why it was just me. Anyway, I guess for those reasons, all I could think was, how could we just get rid of a_ child_? What if we couldn't have another when the timing was better? Or if we had other children, wouldn't we always wonder about the first one we _didn't_ have?"

I know his questions are rhetorical, so I don't try to answer. I just nod and watch him as he reaches up and absently rakes a hand through his hair.

"So you got married," I finally say.

"So we got married," he agrees, dropping his hand to rest on the back of the swing. "We thought things would work out—that we would marry and we would be okay." He pauses again. "But the reality was much harder than we expected.

"Living at my parents' house while I was still in law school wasn't easy. My parents were considerate and all, and we had our own apartment over their garage, but when Kate moved to Chicago, I think she felt lonely."

He reaches up again, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"She had a difficult pregnancy and struggled with post-partum depression afterwards. And I was still in law school and working part-time, trying to save up money for a place of our own. I probably wasn't there enough for her. And when I was, I was trying to help with Masen.

"My dad helped us make a down payment on a house once I finished law school. I hoped things would be better with a place of our own, but I still had long hours, trying to stay on top of things as I settled into my new job. And Kate wasn't thrilled I'd gone to work for the state. She'd hoped I would wind up in the private sector, earning a higher income. Our reality didn't match up to her expectations. She wanted more, or hoped for more, and then she just grew more and more restless until she just…wanted out."

"Oh, Edward… I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, Bella. It's been ten years." He gives me a reassuring smile. "It was for the best. We were spending most of our time together either arguing or not speaking at all."

From the living room we suddenly hear, "Your Mariners just gave up two runs on an error, Dad!"

Edward smiles, calling back, "It's not over 'til it's over!"

"So, what happened with him?" I ask, nodding in the direction of the boy inside.

"He stayed with me. He'd always gravitated more toward me than her, even as a toddler. I don't think they ever really developed the kind of close bond you'd expect between a mother and child."

"Oh man," I exhale. I feel heartbroken for Edward and his son. Even though my own parents were divorced, I always knew they both loved me and wanted me.

"It worked out," Edward says softly. "My mom was a tremendous help. I took him to school in the mornings and she picked him up and watched him in the afternoons. After work, I'd pick him up or we'd stay for dinner with my parents. Then we'd go home and do homework, play, read, watch TV, whatever. We kept busy with sports and other activities, too. I tried to focus as much time as possible on him so he didn't doubt how important he was to me."

"Well, I think it's obvious you succeeded in that," I tell him sincerely. "He seems like such a happy, confident young man. And it's clear you're very close."

"Yeah, we are. And he is a pretty happy kid. And definitely confident— possibly cocky." He grins.

I smile and look down, noticing the forgotten bowl in my hands. I set it on the table next to me and pick up my coffee and take a drink. When I look back, he's got his own mug in hand.

"Does he still see her?" I ask. "His mother?"

"Not very often, but he seems okay with that. She lives in New York now—Manhattan. And she's remarried. No kids, though."

"And…you?" I ask hesitantly. "You never…"

"Remarried?" he asks, smiling. "No. I haven't even dated much. I hated to give up time with him to try to cultivate something with someone else. And with a child in the equation, the dating pool shrinks—more so if the child is an adolescent. Adolescents are scary."

I laugh. "Masen doesn't strike me as _scary_. But I get what you're saying. It's hard enough, wading through the post-divorce dating pool, even without an extra person to consider."

"Yeah," he says, nodding. He takes a sip of his coffee but his eyes don't leave mine.

"So… What's your story?" he asks, beginning to swing us a little once again. He smiles encouragingly and I guess it's only fair. He showed me his and now it's my turn to show him mine. So I take a deep breath.

"Well, after I graduated from U-Dub, I went to work for The Peninsula Daily News—which you already know." He nods. "Jake and I had broken up during my senior year, but about a year after I'd started working in Port Angeles, he got hired at the Volkswagen dealership there. We started seeing each other again, and three years later, we were married."

"How old were you?" Edward asks.

"I was twenty six and Jake was… He was twenty four." Belatedly I realize I probably shouldn't have brought up the age difference. Edward always thought Jake was kind of immature. But he doesn't comment and I move on.

"Our dads had always been close, so they were thrilled." I smile at the memory. "You'd have thought Charlie and Billy were the ones getting married."

Edward exhales a soft snort and gives me a little smile.

"We settled into married life and things were fine for a couple years…until the topic of starting a family came up. I mean, we'd talked about having a family before we married but then, when it came time to consider it more seriously…" I hesitate, shaking my head.

"He changed his mind?" he asks softly, trying to help me along.

I shake my head. "No. I did."

"Oh." He nods and I wonder if he's surprised, but he doesn't say so.

"It wasn't that I didn't want children… I just…" I pause, chewing at my lip.

"You weren't…ready?" he offers gently, still trying to help me get the words out.

I shake my head. "No, I wasn't. So we waited. And I kept…putting it off. Avoiding it. Over time Jake grew more and more frustrated, wondering what it was going to take for me to finally _be_ ready. He wanted a big family and I couldn't even bring myself to start with one."

Edward gives me an understanding smile. "Having children is scary. It's a big, long-term commitment—even with just one."

"I know. And I did worry about a lot of things—about our finances, the kind of mother I'd be…"

Now he's surprised. "Why would you worry about that, Bella? You've always been a caretaker. You _parented_ your own parents_._ You would be a great mom."

His expression is so sincere. I can't bring myself to tell him that being someone's mother is rather a moot point at this stage of the game, so I just smile and get on with it.

"I think I worried because of my own experience as a child—being shuttled back and forth after my parents' divorce, you know? I worried about doing the same thing. And Jake got mad at that—that I didn't trust us to stay together.

"One morning, not too long after that, he asked me point blank if I was happy—_truly_ happy. And… I hesitated, thinking about my answer. He decided my hesitation was answer enough, and he blew up."

"What did he do?" Edward asks, frowning. In a somewhat protective gesture, his arm shifts along the back of the swing, and I feel the warmth of his hand on my back.

"He just got really upset… He said some things."

"What _kinds_ of things?" he demands, sounding a little more irritated and frowning still, as his fingertips begin rubbing my back.

"Just…things. Things he couldn't unsay. Things I couldn't…unthink…"

He's watching me intently, listening and waiting with concern in his eyes. I know he wants more, but I can't bring myself to tell him what Jake said, the accusations that had to do with the ghost from my past—with Edward. And I suppose they weren't really accusations, so much as observations. I just didn't want to see it that way at the time.

"Our marriage unraveled rather quickly after that...and…we split up. That was six years ago," I add. "I was sad for ruining the friendship we'd had, and for the upset it caused our families, but I also felt…this sense of relief. Like a weight had been lifted." I turn and look into his eyes. "That's pretty terrible of me, isn't it?"

"No way!" Masen hollers from the living room. "He's out!" And then we hear him clapping. "Good call!"

I giggle, but this time Edward isn't distracted by his son. His eyes remain focused on me as his thumb—I think—begins rubbing small circles into my upper back.

"You're not terrible, Bella," he says. "You can't help how you felt. Or that your feelings changed. No one goes into a marriage hoping it will fail. Trust me."

I nod at his words. I know he's right. And I know he's been there.

"I guess things worked out for the best," I tell him after a moment. "Jake remarried. He lives in Bozeman, Montana, now, and they had a baby recently. His wife already had two little boys, so Jake got his big family after all."

The back porch screen door swings open suddenly and Masen steps out.

It's clear he was about to say something, but he stops as Edward removes his hand from my back and quickly stuffs it into the pocket of his sweatshirt. At the same time, I bolt upright, abruptly aware that I was sort of leaning into Edward's side. I blush profusely, hoping Masen doesn't think his father and I were…canoodling…out here in the dark.

"Uh… Hi." Masen grins a little as he looks from his father to me and back.

Oh god. He thinks we _were_ canoodling!

"Hi," I say, standing up as if the porch swing is on fire, and stepping away from Edward.

"Hey," Edward says, standing up in a slightly more dignified manner, though both of his hands are now crammed into his pockets. "What's up?" he asks his grinning son.

"Oh, uh… Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know it's the bottom of the eighth, just in case you wanted to catch the end of the game. It's four two, Chicago." His eyes…and his grin…move to me. "And I wanted to ask Bella if I could grab another bottle of water."

"Oh, sure." I nod. Probably about a dozen times.

"Thanks," he says. His eyes drift to his father. "Did you…tell her? Or…_ask_ her?"

I turn to look at Edward. His eyes flicker to mine before landing back on his son.

"No, Masen. I didn't get a chance. We were busy."

"I see," Masen says, as his grin broadens.

"I mean, we were too busy talking about_ other _things," Edward clarifies. He shakes his head and sighs.

"What were you going to tell me?" I ask, turning back to Edward. "Or ask me?" I add, just to cover all the bases.

His gaze lingers on me for a moment before making its way back to where his son is still standing. Edward gives him a pointed look and then rolls his eyes a little.

"Why don't you go ahead and get your water?" he suggests to Masen. "Bella and I will be in shortly."

"Yeah. Okay. Sorry," Masen replies, grinning his way back inside and letting the screen door close behind him.

I turn back to face Edward, now that we're alone again. "So…tell me whatever you're supposed to tell me and ask me," I demand, feeling totally confused and embarrassed out of my mind with all that…grinning.

"I wanted to _tell_ you that...we're thinking about _flying_ back to Chicago," he says.

I blink in surprise. "You are? When?"

"I haven't looked into flights yet. Sunday if possible, but Saturday is probably more likely."

"You're staying an extra day?" I ask.

"Well, two, if possible."

"When did you decide this?"

"While you were making dessert earlier."

"Oh." That's what they were talking about. And then I frown. "Well, if you fly, what are you going to do about Masen's…?" I stop mid-question. "Oh! Of course! I mean…of _course_ you can leave the truck here! I don't mind. Was _that_ what you wanted to _ask_?"

"Oh. No." He chuckles, shaking his head. And then he stops and blinks. "But actually… If that's okay with you… We _could_ leave it here… At your place… And then pick it up from you when we come back in June." He's smiling and he looks kind of hopeful as his eyes search mine.

"Of_ course. _Like I said, I don't mind."

I smile at the idea that he'll be back, even if it's not until June, and even if it's just to pick up his son's truck. I wouldn't mind another day like I've had today.

"So, what were you _really_ going to ask me, Edward? I mean, since it wasn't about Masen's truck."

His hand strays up to rake through his hair, making me wonder if he's nervous, and when he wets his lips, I think he must be.

"I was wondering if you had plans for tomorrow, Bella."

I blink. And I feel hot again, and I'm nowhere near the heater, so it's definitely those eyes of his again.

"Plans? Not really. Nothing important. Why? What do you…want to do?"

He looks surprised, yet pleased at my response. "I didn't think that far ahead," he admits with a chuckle.

"What about the beach?" Masen's voice suggests from inside the kitchen.

"Shit!" Edward exhales, shaking his head and closing his eyes. When he opens them, and gives me an apologetic look, I can't help giggling and he finally snorts a soft laugh.

"Little pitchers have big ears!" he comments loudly in the direction of the screen door.

We hear laughter from inside. "I was watching the game and I realized I forgot about my water! I can't help it the fridge is over this way."

The screen door opens and he sticks his head out.

"And I'm not a little pitcher with big ears—I'm a 6'2" first baseman and my ears are just right, thank you very much." He grins and I'm just laughing at him and his poor father.

"So what do you think?" Masen asks, looking at his dad. "We never made it to the beach, like we planned."

"Go watch the game!" Edward growls menacingly.

"Fine. Fine."

I'm still giggling as the screen door shuts.

Edward shakes his head. And rubs at his forehead. Finally he shrugs at me. "I don't know… What do you think?"

I smile at him and nod. "I think the beach would be fun."

"Yeah?" he asks in apparent disbelief.

"Yeah." I nod. "And maybe I'll bring Fitz?"

"Yeah, okay. Yeah." He gives me that crooked little smile that I've thought about for years.

"Yes!" Masen hollers from inside. "He knocks it out of the park for a grand slam! High-five Fitz!"

* * *

**A/N: Hope to hear from you.**


	21. On Familiar Ground

**Indelible**

**A/N:** This story is set in 2013—when the Port Angeles airport still had commercial service to SEA-TAC, and when the WTA did a nice thing in La Push.

* * *

**Chapter 21: On Familiar Ground**

Edward and I return from the back porch to find Masen in the recliner. Fitz is curled up on one end of the couch, leaving the other end free for Edward and me. Which is okay, of course, except I already got the feeling Masen thought he'd caught us canoodling out back on the swing. Now I'm wondering if the current seating arrangement has been carefully orchestrated with that misperception in mind. His eyes aren't on us, though, so unless he's studiously avoiding eye contact by watching the game, I'm probably imagining things. Whatever. I'm sure Edward will set him straight after they leave. So I sit down next to Fitz, figuring it's my turn to sit by the dog-butt, since Edward already had that pleasure earlier.

"So, what did you decide about tomorrow?" Masen asks, finally looking over to Edward and then to me, seated next to each other on the couch.

"It looks like we're going to hit the beach," he tells his son.

"Cool," Masen says with a smug little grin.

"We have three to choose from," I tell him. "First Beach, Second Beach, and Third Beach."

"Those are very creative names," he observes and I laugh because I remember having the same thought once upon a time.

Edward leans toward me abruptly as he reaches into his pocket. "I'd better get busy checking on flights before we get ahead of ourselves," he says, turning his attention to his phone.

Masen starts looking at his phone as well and I wonder if he's doing the same. He looks up after a moment.

"It's supposed to get up to seventy degrees here tomorrow. That's perfect beach weather. It's a good thing we brought bathing suits."

Edward nods distractedly as he continues checking flights on his phone.

I nod distractedly too. Not that I'm checking anything on my phone. It's just that I have to rethink things. It's only mid-April and I was imagining long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans weather at the beach. Seventy degrees is definitely summer weather here in the Pacific Northwest.

Bathing suit weather.

Crap.

I own two bathing suits—a faded red two-piece that's more saggy than stretchy, and a utilitarian black Speedo tank that smashes my boobs flat while shoving them into my armpits.

Awesome.

I don't know where my mind was when I agreed to go to the beach with Edward and his son.

*I*

The baseball game is over a little before ten and the White Sox have won, seven to three. Masen is gloating, though Edward doesn't seem bothered. I think he was more concerned about finding a flight out for the two of them.

When they leave a short while later, the house seems so quiet and still—though of course the TV is off now, so that's part of it. I let Fitz out to do his nightly backyard potty trip and I straighten up in the kitchen. Once Fitz returns, I lock up and shut off the light and we head into the living room to make the trek upstairs.

Across the room, the photo of me and my dad at graduation catches my eye. I smile wistfully back at my smiling father, thinking how much he would have enjoyed this evening, despite the Mariners' loss.

I think Dad would have genuinely liked the man Edward Cullen has become.

*I*

It's eight thirty, Friday morning, and I'm pacing in the living room as I wait for Angela to pick up my call.

"Swan!" she says upon answering. "I didn't expect to hear from you this early! How'd it go last night?"

"Hey, Angela. Last night was really good. Relaxing and fun. And they sure enjoyed dinner. But listen, Angela, the reason I'm calling so early is… Do you think you could come with me to Newton's?"

There's a long pause before she responds. "To…_the_ Newton's…or to _Newton's_?"

"To _Newton's_. The store. Why would I go to Jess and Mike's house?"

"Why would you go to a _sporting goods_ store?" she counters.

"Ha-ha-ha. You're such a comedienne," I tell her. But I can't fault her for her comment. I've probably been in Newton's a total of five times in my life. It's definitely out of character.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist," she snickers. "But seriously, what do you need so desperately from Newton's this early in the morning?"

"Well…" I sigh. "We're going to the beach…"

"We _are_?" she asks in confusion.

"No, I don't mean us. I mean I am. With Edward and Masen. And Fitz, too."

"Oh. But I thought Edward and his son were leaving for Chicago today."

"They've decided to stay an extra day and fly back, so they're not leav…"

"They're staying an extra _day_?! In _Forks_?!" she interrupts.

"Yes, but try and contain your enthusiasm. It's just because they don't want to have to make the drive. It's a three-day, thirty-hour drive between here and Chicago—and then they'd just have to drive it again in June when Masen starts summer session."

"But, Bella… They're staying an extra _day_! In _Forks_!" she repeats excitedly, ignoring the point I just made.

"Yes. They are. Edward found a flight from Port Angeles on Saturday at four, so they can make a six-o'clock flight from Seattle to Chicago."

"So they're staying an extra day _and a half_!" she exclaims. "In _Forks_!"

"Okay, Angela, I'm just going to hang up now," I tell her.

"No, Swan, don't hang up!" she laughs. "I promise I'll quit. But that's great they're spending a little more time here. So… you were saying you need to go to Newton's because you're going to the _beach_?"

"Yes. It's supposed to warm up today and I have two of the most hideous bathing suits known to man…"

"And you want me to channel Alice Brandon and help you pick out a _new one_?!" she asks excitedly. I laugh, thinking of our high school and college bestie, always so ready to assist in the wardrobe department.

"Exactly. Although if you're truly channeling Alice, you'll be picking out something _waaaay_ beyond my comfort zone."

"So I'll be looking for a thong bathing suit that will show off your best _ass_-et?" Angela snickers.

"Like hell you will. Does Newton's even _sell_ those?"

"I have no idea—like I'd ever seek one out," she scoffs. "Anyway, I'm happy to assist. What time?"

"Well… They're coming over at eleven and Newton's opens at nine."

"That doesn't give us much time. Why don't I just meet you there, right when they open? That way you won't have to waste time picking me up and bringing me back home."

"Angela, you're completely awesome."

"Just bring me the lasagna you promised, and you're equally as awesome."

"Done. See you shortly."

*I*

As soon as the lasagna deal goes down in Newton's parking lot, Angela and I head to the store's entrance, where we see Jessica unlocking the doors for business—our business, since we're the only customers this early. She's surprised to see us and she's chatty. She's also nosey. That much is clear when she moseys over to check on us in the swimsuit department after about ten minutes.

"So, Bella, are you…going on a vacation or something…now?" she asks, eyeing the handful of potential bathing suits in my arms.

She sounds disapproving and it takes a moment for her meaning to register in my brain. She means _now _that my father has passed away. My mouth drops open but Angela is quick to jump in, neatly and sweetly squelching any thoughtless comment or potential gossip brewing in Jessica's head.

"Don't be ridiculous, Jess! Why on earth would Bella go on a vacation now, while she's still grieving her father? She's just going to spend a little time at the beach, visiting with an out-of-town friend she didn't get to talk to at the funeral."

I'm so impressed with Angela I'm tempted to clap. She shot down Jessica's insensitive insinuation and called her ridiculous to her face, though she didn't say it meanly. She also managed to satisfy Jessica's curiosity without mentioning the name of my out of town friend. And Angela didn't lie. She just finessed the truth a little—because I _didn't_ get to talk to that out-of-towner at the funeral. I didn't have that opportunity until afterward.

"Oh," Jessica says, seemingly satisfied. She smiles. "Well, just let me know if you need any help," she adds before wandering back to the register at the store's entrance.

*I*

By the time we're done at Newton's, I've tried on about a dozen bathing suits and we've vetoed all but two. I'm leaning toward the dark green one-piece, with the halter-style top and low-cut back, but Angela thinks I should get the royal blue two-piece, with the cleavage-enhancing top. When she tells me I should "flaunt what my mama gave me" I laugh outright, but her comment reminds me I was thinking about visiting my mom later this summer. Two bathing suits, that actually fit, will come in handy on a trip to Florida.

Once I've paid for my purchases, and we're back out in the parking lot, Angela tells me she hopes I'll have the girly-balls to wear the two-piece today.

I roll my eyes and tell her I hope she enjoys her lasagna.

*I*

Edward and Masen arrive a couple minutes before eleven and Fitz and I are both dressed and ready to go. It's warming up, but likely to be breezy on the beach, so I'm wearing a lightweight gray zip hoodie with my black denim shorts. Fitz is sporting a Day-Glo orange bandanna around his neck. It makes him easy to spot from a distance.

Looking out the window, I see Masen climb out of the truck in navy board shorts, a light blue T-shirt, and a White Sox cap. I smile to myself as I pull my short ponytail through the back of my black Mariners cap. Edward rounds the truck, dressed in black board shorts and a gray T-shirt. He's hatless, but he's got sunglasses tucked into the neckline of his shirt.

Opening the front door, I greet them as they come up the walkway. Edward's smile broadens when he notices my hat with the Seattle Mariners "S" logo above the visor.

"Hey, I appreciate the team support," he says to me.

"Your team needs all the support it can get," Masen says without missing a beat, and Edward just chuckles at his merciless son.

"Hey… " Masen grins, looking from his father to me and back. "You two…match," he observes and Edward and I look at each other and down at ourselves. He's right. We do sort of match in our black shorts and gray shirts.

"Well, just so you can tell us apart, I'm the one in the black cap," I tell Masen.

"Uh…actually Dad's Nike cap is in the truck…and…it's black," he adds, looking terribly entertained.

"Seriously?" I ask, turning to Edward.

He smiles and shrugs. "You know what they say, Bella… Great minds think alike."

Masen takes Fitz out to the truck on his leash for me, getting him situated in back and tethered up for safety. Edward takes the bag I packed with towels and I grab my sunglasses, a small backpack, and an old faded quilt, and I pull the door shut behind me. And then I stop.

"Shoot! I meant to bring some snacks and drinks!"

Edward smiles down at me in amusement. "Again…great minds think alike. Because I already picked up lunch for us on the way over."

I blink in surprise. "You did?"

"I did," he affirms, as we head down the steps. "Sandwiches, fruit, drinks, and chips. And I got a bottle of water and package of dog treats for Fitz."

"You _did_?" I ask again, even more surprised.

"I _did_," he says with a laugh. "I didn't want him to feel left out."

And now I'm beaming. Because that's really cute. It's so cute I say it out loud by mistake. "That's really cute of you, Edward."

"It was no big deal," he says, shrugging off my comment. But my blurted words must embarrass him as much as they do me, because I'm fairly sure I detect a faint blush as he pulls his sunglasses from the neck of his shirt and slides them on. He clears his throat then and runs his free hand up through his hair.

"I don't know if he'll even like them, but they're supposed to be healthy…all natural ingredients…no fillers…"

Even as I think about how kind his gesture is—and the fact that he apparently took the time to read the packaging—his concern for Fitz' preferences strikes me funny.

"What?" he asks, smiling crookedly when I start giggling.

"Trust me, Fitz isn't picky about taste or nutritional content. He likes anything that's edible. And quite a few things that aren't."

He chuckles but I don't want him to think his thoughtfulness isn't appreciated.

"Just in case Fitz forgets to say it later… Thank you, Edward."

*I*

Edward is at the wheel of Masen's Toyota Tacoma, I'm riding shotgun, and for some reason, Masen is sprawled out in the cramped backseat of his own vehicle. I was more than willing to sit back there, but they wouldn't hear of it. Masen doesn't seem bothered, though. He's smiling, looking out the back window at Fitz, happily barking his head off in the truckbed.

Edward looks at me and quirks a brow as we get to the end of my street. "Is Fitz going to do that all the way to La Push?"

"No. He's just letting the neighborhood dogs know he's off on an adventure and they should all be jealous. If he doesn't shut up in the next couple miles, you can pull over and I'll take that bandanna off his neck and re-tie it around his muzzle." Edward laughs. He knows I'm joking. I would never put a damper on Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy's joy-ride.

*I*

First Beach is easiest to get to, but it will be crowded with tourists, surfers, and the local spring break crowd on a pretty day like today. Third Beach is more secluded and would be less crowded, but it involves about a mile and a half hike through the forest. We decide to make the shorter hike down to Second Beach. It was always Edward's and my favorite beach anyway.

We park the truck and set out on foot to the trailhead. When we get there, Edward halts, and I think he's stunned at the sight of the path before him. I'm kind of surprised as well, because I haven't been here in a long time either.

"Wow…" Edward exhales. "This is amazing. This trail used to be just dirt…well, mostly mud. It's an actual gravel walkway now."

"Yeah. It's new," I tell him. "They even redid the steps farther down. There was an article in the paper about it a few weeks ago."

I remember Edward saying Masen is outdoorsy—that he likes camping and hiking, so I elaborate, thinking this might appeal to him at some point in the future.

"The Washington Trails Association held a Volunteer Vacation here at the beginning of the month. They make a sort of week-long working vacation out of trail improvement projects. The WTA provides meals, and besides working on the project, participants camp out and have free time to just relax and enjoy the campsite."

"What a cool idea," Masen says.

"Yeah, it is," Edward agrees.

We start down the gravel trail, with the sound of the surf in the distance, and Fitz in the lead. Masen is right behind him, acting as anchor on the other end of the leash, and carrying the beach bag slung over his shoulder. A little ways back, Edward and I follow, both of us wearing backpacks—which don't match, thank goodness. He's got our lunch in a small ice chest they brought on their trip, and I've got the quilt we'll use as our picnic blanket.

"This trail is really well-designed for how simple it is," Edward remarks after we've walked a little ways. "Even if it had rained in the past few days it wouldn't be muddy or slippery like it used to be."

"Yeah," I agree, his words reminding me of another trip to the beach, years ago…

*I*

It was in that first summer before Edward would be leaving for his freshman year at Dartmouth. We'd been together for maybe a month or two at the time and it was the first clear, sunny day we'd had after several days of fog and rain. We'd decided to make the trek to Second Beach to spend the day in the sun together. About halfway down to the beach, we came across a particularly muddy section of the old narrow dirt trail. Since there was no getting around the mud hole, Edward volunteered to carry me piggyback, so I wouldn't get my shoes all mucked up.

It was a gallant gesture.

And a terrible idea.

After a couple careful steps, his foot slid in the thick mud, and with me on his back, he was off-balance instantly. Before either of us could react, he fell backward, landing on top of me in the mud. He was horrified, of course, worried he'd hurt me. But I'd really only had the wind knocked out of me. I was however, covered in mud all the way up to the assorted splatters in my hair. Even my towel fell victim to the muck—literally. Thankfully I had a bathing suit on beneath my shorts and T-shirt, and was able to clean up and rinse out my clothes in the icy surf…

*I*

Edward snorts a quiet laugh at my side, interrupting my recollection. I turn my head to look at him. I can't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but he's smiling as he turns his head.

"Do you remember that time I carried you…?"

"Yesss…" I groan, cutting him off. And then I laugh. "I was actually just thinking about that, too. Because you know what they say…about those great minds thinking alike."

He chuckles, obviously amused at my response. "I felt so terrible about that," he says, shaking his head at the memory.

I nod and smile, thinking about how mad he'd been at himself, and how he'd insisted that I use his towel, once we'd gotten to the beach, sullenly relegating himself to sitting in the sand.

"It was an accident, Edward."

"I was stupid," he says. "Anyone with half a brain knows you shouldn't try to navigate a mud hole with a spider monkey on your back." He shoots me a crooked little smile and I laugh at his metaphor.

"Well, I was a stupid spider monkey, agreeing to go along with that ill-advised piggyback ride. At least I broke your fall and kept you mostly mud-free."

"Thanks. Thanks for making me feel better about that," he chuckles and I smile.

We continue down the path in comfortable silence, following Masen and Fitz up ahead, and my thoughts pick up the thread of that afternoon of sun, surf and my sullen young boyfriend, sitting in the sand.

It took quite a while to convince him to just join me and sit on the towel together that day. It took slightly less time to convince him to lie down next to me. And in a rather short span of time, and with very little convincing involved, Edward Cullen wound up on top of me once again—though in more of a making-out sort of way, than a mud-hole-mishap sort of way.

At the moment, I'm grateful I'm shorter than him, and that my face is mostly hidden from his inspection by my baseball cap and sunglasses. Maybe he's not looking at me, or even thinking about the same thing I am, but you never know…those great minds could be thinking alike, once again.

*I*

After about fifteen minutes, we've arrived, and semi-secluded, mile-long Second Beach is just so beautiful. This expansive yet intimate stretch of beach is lovelier than I'd remembered, and I wonder why I haven't come here in so long.

There's something magical about this place, with its piles of silver-gray driftwood, craggy sea stacks, tide pools, and offshore islets. But maybe it's more than just the seascape and location. Maybe it's the memories I associate with this place. This is where Edward and I always came to get away from the crowds and spend quiet time together.

After Edward's family moved away, I rarely went to Second Beach, and if I did, I went there alone. First Beach was more convenient to get to and had plenty of parking. And for those reasons, it was the usual destination for beach parties, bonfires, and surfing for the Forks and La Push crowds. Jake always preferred that party atmosphere to quieter Second Beach, and maybe I needed those distractions.

We continue walking southward along the beach, passing other sun-seekers, who have staked out spots closer to the trail. At about the midway point, Edward, Masen, and I claim a spot on the sand and set our things down. I turn to check on Fitz—off-leash now and already down by the water, barking and chasing birds, encouraging them to take flight. As I watch him, I rid myself of my sweatshirt, feeling only slightly self-conscious in my new bathing suit. Angela will be disappointed, but I'm glad I wore the one-piece. It's pretty and sleek, enhancing what needs enhancing, and covering a little more of my extremely pale, post-winter skin, than the more revealing two-piece would have covered.

When I turn back around, Edward has his back to me, and he's removing his shirt. His body is even more impressive than I'd imagined, but I remember him saying he works out with Masen. It shows. Given the way they rib each other, I'm willing to bet they're competitive, pushing each other, athletically.

I can see the strength and power in the sinuous muscles of Edward's upper arms, shoulders, and back as he moves. He drops his shirt onto the quilt and turns, and I quickly look away, not wanting to get caught staring. I tell myself I'm not going to ogle him. But I am willing to peek. And so I manage a quick mental snapshot of the defined musculature of his chest and abdomen, and the trail of hair that enhances the former, and points the way past the latter.

Oh, good golly.

I always thought Edward Cullen was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen—head to toe. But this Edward, this _manly_ Edward…with all of that attractive _manliness_ he's got going on... He's just exquisite. Like a good wine that has matured to a really _fine_ wine.

"Bella?"

I turn and look up at Edward's face, reminding myself not to ogle his body. "Yes?"

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Um…no?"

"I said, the tide seems to still be going out, so maybe we should go check out the tide pools now."

"Oh. Sure. Good idea. Yes. Let's do that."

Masen is completely taken with the scenery. He's never seen a beach like this—so craggy and rugged. And as we climb around at the tide pools and sea stacks, he can't get over all the sea life clinging to the rocks—especially the big brightly-colored starfish, and the more unusual nine-pointed stars.

When we begin feeling hungry sometime later, we start the trek back up the beach toward our picnic lunch.

Fitz has found a particularly wonderful stick and Masen is throwing it for him. He chases after Fitz, egging him on, and then cajoles him to bring it back and part with it, so he can throw it again. Just like last night in the yard, before dinner.

And then I remember something about last night's dinner.

"I'm curious about something," I say as we watch them racing back up the beach.

"About what?" Edward asks, turning to look at me.

"About why you were acting so weird last night, when Masen first mentioned he'd seen photos of me."

He purses his lips and frowns. "I wasn't acting weird," he says.

"Oh, yes you were, Edward. You looked completely caught off guard—panicked, even. Like you were about to jump right out of your skin."

"I seriously wasn't…"

I stop walking and he does too. Then I pull my sunglasses off, so he can see my eyes, and I cock an eyebrow at him. I learned that move from Angela. She uses it when she knows her kids are trying to pull a fast one.

He matches my move, shoving his sunglasses up into his hair. "Okay, fine. I might have been caught off guard," he says, and I'm mentally high-fiving Angela's right eyebrow.

"What were you worried about?" I ask.

"Trust me, you don't want to know."

"Trust me, I do."

Edward sighs. "When Masen said he'd seen photos of you, I was caught off guard because _I_ have photos of you, and I thought maybe he was talking about _my_ photos of you, and I didn't want him to mention them, if that was the case."

"Why not?" I ask. "I mean, _I_ have photos of _you_."

He gives me that crooked little grin. "You _do_?"

Oops.

I roll my eyes—mostly at myself for admitting it to him. "Um... Yes. I do."

His grin broadens and I cross my arms over my chest.

I decide not to elaborate and tell him I probably have two cubic feet of photos, notes, letters, CD's, random clothing items, and miscellaneous gifts and mementos from him, all stuffed into a cardboard box. All readily accessible in my bedroom closet, back at the house.

Instead I ask, "Why? What's wrong with me having photos of you?"

"Nothing. That's fine. I mean, that's… That's great." And I have to look away now, because that mouth is just getting to me with that dazzling smile of his. Sheesh.

"So, what's wrong with the photos _you_ have of _me_, that you didn't want Masen mentioning them?"

"There's nothing _wrong_ with them," he says, waving a hand emphatically.

He sighs when I just stand there, waiting for more.

"Well, okay… It's not the…_what_ of the photos, it's the…_where_ of the photos that's wrong with them," he says, looking kind of uncomfortable.

It takes me a moment to understand what he's saying. "What do you mean, the _where_? Where _are_ they?"

Now he looks even more uncomfortable.

"They're…in my study. A few of them are. Others are packed away with…you know, other stuff…"

"Not helping," I tell him, because I still don't get it.

"They're tucked inside a book on a shelf in my study," he says with a resigned little sigh. And then he swallows. "They're in a…novel…with a dark blue cover…and an image of a rose corsage on the front…"

"Oh, no…" I gasp as my stomach does a flip. Now he looks even more uncomfortable, but I'm sure he's nowhere near as uncomfortable as I am.

"_A Rite of Passage_…?" I whisper. It's my prom story. _Our _prom story. That I wrote. About us.

"By I. M. Byrd," he says, nodding.

"Oh, no…"

He stands there, watching me. Like he's expecting me to run screaming into the hills. Well, up the trail and _then_ into the hills. I have to admit I'm tempted.

"Shit, Edward!" I finally shriek. "You have my _book_?! How did you find it?!"

He blinks. And then he frowns. "I didn't _find_ it…I just…stumbled across it. In a bookstore a few years ago. I was in the teen section, looking for something for Masen. The book was in a display of recent paperback releases. The cover design and title caught my eye. I knew it could just be a coincidence, but the cover design matched the color of your dress...and the corsage I'd bought you…"

"So you bought the book," I groan.

"Yes."

"And you read it, I suppose?"

"Well… Yeah. That's why I bought it."

"Oh, no…"

He licks his lips. "I didn't _know_ it was your book, Bella. Parts of it felt familiar. But not all of it. So I didn't really know for sure. But yesterday—when you said you'd written six books…"

"Oh, no…"

He nods.

"Don't tell me you have all six."

He doesn't say anything. He just watches me. And I realize, with a start, that he's responding by not responding, because I told him not to tell me he had them all.

"Oh, my god… You do, don't you?!"

"Uh… Yes. I do. And they all had that same…sort of…quasi-_familiarity_."

"Oh, no…"

I'm so embarrassed that I decide to share that with him. "I'm so embarrassed!" I wail, covering up my face with my hands.

"Don't be embarrassed. And quit saying, 'Oh, no.' There's no reason to be embarrassed, but that's precisely why I didn't want to tell you in the first place."

I peek at him and he's…_smiling_!

"How could I not be _embarrassed_?!" I yell. "Oh my god, Edward! I don't know whether to give you a good hard shove or dig myself a hole in the ground!"

His eyes widen in surprise and then he blinks. And then his mouth twitches. And suddenly he just starts…_giggling_!

I do an about-face and begin to march away from him.

"Bella, come back!" he calls. "Wait, Bella! Stop!" he says, catching up and grabbing my hand.

"Go ahead," he says, pulling me around to face him. And he's still smiling. "Give me a good hard shove. I deserve it for laughing. But I couldn't help it… You just looked so…_pink_." His eyes are twinkling and I can see he's trying really hard not to laugh in my face.

So I reach up, my palms connecting with his solid chest, and I give him a good shove. But he hardly even moves. He just laughs—though I can see he's really trying not to. So I throw more weight into it and shove him again. He moves a little and laughs a lot. And then I think about how stupid we must look. And I wonder if Edward's son is watching this spectacle. And I just think… Screw it… Embarrassing the crap out of myself in front of Edward Cullen is nothing new to me, and I just start giggling. And then I'm laughing. Right along with him.

And we don't stop until we're out of breath.

"Good Lord, my stomach hurts," he gasps, bent over but smiling at me, as I wipe away tears of laughter.

"Come on," he says, straightening finally. "Let's go back and have something to eat, before Masen devours it all. Once we've had lunch, I'll help you dig yourself a hole in the ground. And then maybe you can answer a few questions I have."

* * *

**A/N: So... Now she knows...that he knows...and I'd love to know what you think of their day so far. **


	22. Facts in the Fiction

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Hope you like this one. It's an EPOV. :)

* * *

**Chapter 22: Facts in the Fiction**

I never envisioned this cross-country road trip evolving into what it has: a journey into the past, back before my life took a fork in a different direction two decades ago.

I have so many fond memories of days like this, in and around the wild and rugged beauty of the Olympic Peninsula, but I never imagined I'd be filing away new memories of this place and this girl from my youth. It's hard to believe I'm back here, on Second Beach, with Isabella Swan. And strangely enough, I have my own kid to thank for it.

Having Masen around last evening and today has been a good thing, for the most part. He's been a distraction—a buffer—in situations that might otherwise be potentially awkward, or feel almost date-like.

Behind my dark sunglasses, I sneak a covert glance at Bella as we walk back along the shore. I've been doing that a lot since we got here. Our interaction has grown more familiar and comfortable, but at the moment, she's chewing her lip and I bite back a smile, seeing she still does that. It's obvious she's stewing, now that she knows I "saw" us in her novels. She's probably wondering what questions I have as a result.

"Oh, no…" she murmurs, slowing to a halt and frowning as she looks farther up along the beach. I follow her gaze to the spot we staked out earlier. Masen is lying on his stomach, possibly dozing, but more likely feigning sleep, while watching our every move like a hawk.

He's not as smooth as he thinks.

"What's wrong?" I ask her.

"Does _he_ know? About the books?" She frowns as she looks at me.

"Oh." I shake my head. "No. I've never said anything to him, and I have so many books in my study, they certainly don't stand out. He might wonder _why_ I have them, but even if he did read them, I'm sure he would have no idea what they were."

She relaxes visibly and nods. "Well, it's not like there's anything very scandalous in them, but it was obvious last night he knew _some_ things about me. I just wasn't sure what you'd told him."

"Well, clearly I've told him a few things, but only on a need-to-know basis."

"That sounds very special-ops," she says with a little laugh as we start walking again.

She stops abruptly to pick up a shell, wiping it off on her shorts before tucking it into her pocket.

"So, tell me… What exactly, has Masen needed to know, on a _need-to-know basis_?" she asks and I smile. I had a feeling she'd be curious.

"Well, our original plan was to arrive in Forks late on Sunday, and then stick around Monday so Masen could see the area where my parents and I used to live. We had to be in Seattle on Tuesday for that appointment with his advisor at the university, so we were going to just stay in Seattle until we left to head back to Chicago, late Thursday or early Friday…"

Her mouth drops open. "But you didn't! You've spent all this time in Forks!"

I nod and I shrug. "Yeah. That was fine. The plan changed before we even left Chicago, when I saw your dad's obituary online. I told Mase it was a last-minute thing, but I wanted to return to Forks Tuesday night, after spending the day in Seattle, so I could attend a funeral on Wednesday. I didn't go into detail. I just told him the funeral was for someone my parents and I had known when we lived here. I wanted to try to see you, but I didn't know how that would go."

"It didn't go very well that first day," she says, and I smile at her understatement and the sheepish expression on her face—though she had every right to be upset.

"No, it didn't, did it? And then I had to take off so abruptly when Masen had that flat tire. But I didn't want to just give up and leave things so discordant between us. So later that day, I finally explained to Masen that the funeral had been for Forks' former Police Chief, and that I'd been close to his daughter in high school. I didn't mention your name, or tell him anything about our history. I just told him you were living at the house alone now, and I wanted to stop by the next day to try and do a little yardwork for you."

She smiles. But then she frowns. "Your poor son. His whole trip to Seattle got derailed. He must be upset that he's been stuck in Forks this whole time."

"Well…you might think so, but he knows we'll be back in June. And he'll have plenty of opportunities to see Seattle while he's in school there, so he's actually been enjoying the stay in Forks. There's a lot more wilderness to explore here than in Chicago or Seattle. Besides… I think staying here has given him the opportunity to…uh…satisfy his curiosity."

"Curiosity about what?" she asks and I hesitate as I reach up and scratch the back of my neck. I feel awkward. But she did ask…

"Well… About _you_."

She stops, her mouth dropping open once again, and I snort a laugh at her reaction. Then I fill her in on what I found out only late yesterday evening.

"After we left your place last night, I found out from Masen that my mom actually told him a little about you, when she showed him those prom photos. So on Tuesday, when he first saw you at the coffee shop, he recognized you as _Bella, the police chief's daughter_ from the photos. But I'd never actually told him it was _your_ father's funeral I'd be attending the next day. He didn't put it all together until I explained more to him _after_ the funeral. He didn't say anything to me at the time, but he realized I was talking about the girlfriend in the prom photos, and that it was _her_ yard I wanted to go work on the next day."

She chokes back a little laugh and then she giggles outright. "He didn't let on that he knew about me?"

I shake my head and smile. "Nope. Not until last night. He just played dumb and sat on that bit of knowledge." I shoot her a grin. "And when I told him you'd invited us to dinner, I thought he was being a cooperative kid, interested in meeting you last night, because I'd mentioned _you'd_ attended U-Dub, too. In reality, he was dying of curiosity and had ulterior motives—he just wanted to check out my former girlfriend."

She bursts into laughter as her cheeks flush. I chuckle at her reaction, but it's a slightly awkward admission, after all.

"Oh god…I hope I passed inspection!" she groans, but I can tell she's amused.

"You did. You passed with flying colors."

I'm not sure she wants the specifics—that he found her to be _'very nice, really funny, an awesome cook, and pretty—for a woman her age.'_ Those were his words, not mine. He's right, of course, though the qualifier, _'for a woman her age,'_ was unnecessary—she's just pretty, end of story.

She's also doing wonders for that dark green bathing suit she's wearing—at least from what I can see, because she still has on those shorts.

And I have Masen to thank for getting her into a bathing suit, since the beach was his idea.

So maybe he _is_ as smooth as he thinks.

I stoop to pick up a small piece of green beach glass glinting in the sun, its edges polished smooth from the surf. Brushing it off, I hand it to Bella and she tucks it into her pocket, adding to the small collection of shells and glass she has been gathering on our walk.

We turn away from the shoreline and head up the sand to where Masen is lying on the blanket, sunglasses shading his eyes, phone next to him, with his earbuds plugged into his ears. He doesn't react to our arrival, so I tap his bare foot with mine and he wakes up—or pretends to—rolling over and sitting up with a stretch and quite possibly, a fake yawn. He scoots to a corner of the blanket to make room for us.

As Bella stows her shells and beach glass in her backpack, I open the cooler and dole out water bottles and sandwiches—an Italian sub for Masen, chicken salad for both Bella and me. We share a bag of chips and mixed fruit between us, and once the fruit container is empty, Fitz has a makeshift water bowl. He likes those dog treats I bought, though they lose their appeal once he starts getting the occasional bit of cold cut or cheese from Masen's sandwich.

While he eats, Masen remarks on how desolate those scattered, spindly offshore islands look. Bella tells him they're a wildlife refuge, called the Quillayute Needles. She explains how they've been eroded into those weird shapes by severe weather conditions and I tell him there's an arch up at the north end of the beach. A large gap has been carved out of the headland by the elements, leaving a natural land bridge above it.

After lunch, Masen decides to take a walk up the beach to check out the arch and take a few pictures. Sitting with my arms folded atop my bent knees, I watch as he takes off to the right, with Fitz trotting at his side. I turn back to Bella, sitting on my left and slightly forward of me, but I forget what I was about to say when I see her reclining and shifting her hips up to push her shorts down. She sits up to remove them, and then relaxes back, propped up on her elbows, admiring the view before us.

I'm admiring the view as well, though I'm looking at neither blue sky nor sparkling sea. And even as I silently tell myself not to, I can't help but drink in the sight of her.

I got in a few surreptitious glances earlier as we walked along the beach, but I'm grateful she's unaware, as I finally allow myself to study her more thoroughly from head to toe. She's less angular than she was at nineteen, her knees and elbows no longer knobby. She's still slender, but her arms and legs are shapelier, her curves all curvier.

"What?" she asks.

My eyes shoot to her upturned face and it's embarrassingly apparent I've been caught. I can feel my ears turning red as I clear my throat and attempt to collect my wits.

"Oh, uh…nothing. Nothing." I tell her. "I just… I was just wondering before, if you were ever going to take off your shorts and get comfortable."

It sounded more believable in my head than it does out loud, and I'm sure she's rolling her eyes as she looks away. She turns over onto her stomach, glancing at me before resting her chin on her folded arms.

"I was comfortable. I just didn't want my butt hanging out while we were climbing around the tide pools with your son."

Like a magnet, my eyes are drawn down to the body part in question, but there's no _hanging _going on. It still looks quite nice and firm and round to me. But it must dawn on her that she has unwittingly displayed it, and called attention to it, because her arms shoot down to her sides, the backs of her hands coming to rest on her behind like a shield.

"Edward, quit staring!"

"Sorry!" My eyes snap back up to her flushed face and I think she must still have a hard time seeing her own appeal. Or maybe she thinks I find her lacking in some way. I don't. I never have. But I'm suddenly filled with such warmth for the shy, uncertain high school girl, still there within the woman, so I decide I should probably deflect, just to keep this casual.

"You're the one who brought up your butt," I remind her, squinting in the sunlight and shooting her a smile as I stretch out and lie back on the blanket, mentally crossing my fingers and hoping for the best. "I was just thinking that you look…" _Stunning. Alluring. Tempting._ "Very…fit."

"_Fit_?"

She frowns. Maybe she knows I'm trying to cover up my tracks.

"Yeah. You know, you look…really good. You look very _fit_. And you were the girl who hated gym class, so I was just curious."

"Oh." She smiles. "I did hate gym class. Well, mostly I hated running laps." And then she laughs. "And I _really_ sucked at team sports. But I've never been a complete couch potato. There are a few activities I still enjoy doing. I used to swim laps with a friend in Port Angeles and I still go on occasional bike rides. And of course I take Fitz on long walks."

Almost as an afterthought she continues. "Oh, and I started taking yoga last fall. I've been taking classes with a few friends, but I haven't gone the past couple weeks. Not since Dad died."

She hesitates, looking down, and I'm sure she's thinking of Charlie, but then she rests her cheek on her forearm and looks back over at me. "I should probably start back to those classes—just to get myself out of the house and doing something regularly with friends. Plus it's a really great way to de-stress and stay firmed up and flexible, you know?"

She smiles and I'm slow to react.

My mind is beset with images of a flushed and perspiring Bella in a variety of yoga poses, all firmed up and flexible.

At least I think to roll over onto my stomach before I embarrass myself publicly, displaying the physical manifestation of where my thoughts have gone, regarding a _firmed up and flexible_ Bella. I mirror her position, trying to get comfortable without being obvious I'm not, and I finally respond.

"Well, I think it's good to do what you can to ease back into a normal routine—as long as you feel up to it. But you're allowed to grieve and take things slowly, Bella. There's no timeline you have to follow."

"Yeah, I know."

Her pretty dark eyes are focused on mine, and when a few stray strands of hair begin dancing around her face in the breeze, I don't even stop and think about it, I just automatically reach out and tuck them back behind her ear. I only think about it afterward, wondering if my gesture seemed too intimate, but she just smiles and closes her eyes, leaving me to watch her for a moment.

But then I remember we have a conversation waiting on the back burner, so I prop myself up on my forearms.

"I still have some questions for you, Bella. Don't think I've forgotten." I reach over and poke her in the ribs for emphasis, just in case she's trying to pull "a Masen" and pretend to sleep. She yelps and jerks away with a laugh.

"Ugh! God, Edward, I was sincerely hoping you'd forgotten!"

"Not a chance," I chuckle.

I reach up, past the edge of the blanket, and scoop a few handfuls of sand aside. "There you go. I've dug you a hole. If the need arises, you can hide your face in it."

She looks at the hole—about the size of a soup bowl—and laughs. "That's it? That's all I get?"

I smirk at her and nod. I really don't want her hiding from me.

"Fine. Whatever." She sighs good-naturedly as she leans up, propping herself on her elbows, too. Turning to face me she shakes her head at some unvoiced thought.

"What?" I ask, grinning.

"I just… I can't believe… I mean, you _read_ them. _All_ of them!" she sputters, shaking her head again at the mere thought that I've read her series of novels. I know she's embarrassed, and I find it kind of endearing that she still gets all flushed and flustered like she used to. Something about that honest vulnerability has always seemed so sweet and innocent to me.

"I don't understand your embarrassment, Bella. In fact, _that's_ my first question… What's so embarrassing about me reading your books?"

"Oh, _seriously_, Edward!" She huffs, like she's completely exasperated with me, and I have to work to stifle my smile. "Obviously you're not in my target audience," she says. "_Men_ aren't generally the target readership for silly teen romance novels."

"Well, maybe I'm not the only…" I stop, frowning as her words hit me. "Wait… Why do you think they're _silly_?"

She sighs heavily. "I just meant silly, as in…you know…_sappy_."

Her words are like a punch to the gut. I feel slighted. She's written stories that include bits and pieces of our past—the people we were, things we did, and the way we used to be together. I don't want her calling those experiences _sappy_.

"Don't call them that," I tell her. "Why would you belittle what you've written? Obviously, authors write for different audiences, and it's clear your books are primarily intended for a younger, female audience, but that doesn't make them less worthy than novels for adult readers, Bella. There are authors who write children's books, but that doesn't make either them or their books _childish_."

She looks momentarily surprised by my little speech, but then she nods.

"I know, Edward. And I'm not belittling what I wrote…about us. Obviously I'm sentimental about those experiences. But I'm fully aware of how my books read, from the average man's perspective."

"What do you mean, you're _fully aware _of how your…?" Before I finish my question, I already know the answer, and I can feel myself getting angry.

"_He_ told you that? _Jake_ called your novels _sappy_?"

Her eyes widen and she opens her mouth to speak, but then closes it. Sighing, she gives me a small shrug. "Something along those lines, yeah," she finally admits.

I shake my head in disgust at Jacob Black. If he were here, I'd have a few choice words for that immature idiot. But he's not here, so instead I ask something I've wondered since I first considered that Bella might have written that series of novels.

"Is _he_ in them? In your books?"

"Um…Jacob?" She hesitates, either thinking or avoiding, but I can't be sure which. "No," she finally says in a quiet voice, shaking her head as she looks down at her hands. "He's not in them."

I feel pleased. Or maybe inappropriately smug. Her answer leads me right into my next question.

"Did he know I was in them? I mean, to some extent?"

She shrugs, looking back up at me. "I don't know for sure. I never told him, of course. And since the plots, settings, and character names were different in every book, I'm not sure he would have even known where fiction veered into anything real. But he was always rather scornful of my main characters all being high school teenagers or young college students. So maybe he suspected."

I hope so, I think to myself. Screw you, Jake. I don't say it, of course. I just nod. But I think it. He gave her crap about what she wrote, and I find that intolerable.

Once I've finally managed to push thoughts of whiny Jacob Black aside, I ask another question.

"Were there others? From college?"

She gives me a blank look. "What do you mean?"

"Were there other…you know, _sources_ of material…besides _me_, in your books?"

She blinks. And then her expression swiftly changes until she looks almost appalled.

"Don't say it like that, Edward! You weren't a..._source of material!_" Her words are forceful, her gaze intense.

"Look," she says. "Obviously I know a lot more now than I did the other day, when I told you how I felt after you'd left. I had no idea you had hopes of coming back. I know I sounded terribly angry and resentful, and I still wish things hadn't ended the way they did, but I never regretted the relationship we had." She gives me an earnest little smile, but then looks down as she quietly continues.

"I have a lot of wonderful memories from that period in my life, and I decided to write about those experiences. Those first love feelings, the butterflies in the stomach, all the excitement and exhilaration of that _newness_, and that sort of exponential falling over and over for the same person as you get to know them…" She looks back up with a nostalgic little grin. "You left an indelible mark on my girlhood, Edward Cullen."

I smile at her words. "An _indelible mark on your girlhood_?" I repeat and she nods, smiling, and I feel such affection for her. I guess it's only natural, but I can't help wishing, like her, that our past had followed a different course. "Are you quite certain you don't mean an_ ugly blot _on your_ existence_, given that dreadful break-up I was convinced was in your best interest?"

She exhales an amused snort and shakes her head. "No. I'm _quite_ sure I don't mean that."

"In all seriousness, Bella, I'm glad you have good memories of us. I do too. I'm sorry I ended things like I did when we moved. Your novels all have much better endings."

She shrugs. "Well, happy endings sell more books. Everyone wants a happily ever after—even if it's a fictitious one."

I nod. "I guess so."

"Anyway, in answer to your earlier question… When I decided to try my hand at writing teen romance novels, you were my only real _muse_." She smiles as she emphasizes the word. "No one else…ever really…" She hesitates, then she just shakes her head and shrugs. "Everything else just came from my imagination."

I'm surprised and flattered. And I feel inordinately happy.

"Next question?" she asks after a moment.

"I can't think of anything else for now. I think you've covered most of my questions, but I'll let you know if I think of anything."

"Okay. Well, I have one then… What felt familiar to you while you were reading?"

I'm glad she has warmed up to the idea that I've read her books enough to ask for specifics.

"Well, it's been a while since I read them… In fact, when I get back home, I'll probably be inclined to re-read them, now that I know for sure…" She gives me this look, like she's going to roll her eyes, or say I'm crazy, so I just cut to the chase.

"Anyway… Let's see… Obviously, that book about the lab partners…?" I hesitate, unable to recall the name.

"_Advanced Chemistry_," she says, providing me with the title and an accompanying grin.

"Yeah, that's the one," I chuckle. "So much of that felt familiar, but I took exception to the fact that the guy was repeating chemistry because he'd flunked it the previous year. I passed Advanced Bio with a C the first time. And I was out sick part of the year. I only re-took it to get an A. Your character never did the work or studied."

She laughs. "Edward, he had family and personal issues he was working through!" she counters. "I had to give the girl a reason to care for him, as well as tutor him, so they could spend all that extra time together," she explains and I nod, willing to accept her distortion of our reality, in the name of creative license.

"Where else did you see us?" she asks.

"Well…let's see. Oh, that book about the high school hockey player and the girl who worked at the ice rink concession stand… _Most Valuable Player_?"

"Good job. I'm impressed you remembered the title."

"Nah, that was easy. I was the MVP, too, that last game, although I wasn't the 'play-ah' that guy was with the girls." She giggles at my ridiculous gangsta' pronunciation and I grin back at her.

"The scene where he finally asked her out after the championship game was familiar. But what really caught my attention, was the part where she wanted to commemorate his championship-winning hat trick with that award she made afterward—like the Golden Pitcher Award you made."

"You mean the athletic cup she bought and spray-painted silver? _Stanley's Cup_?" She starts giggling as she says it.

"Exactly!" I laugh. "That was hilarious. I can't believe you wrote that, Isabella Swan! Luckily, I played baseball and not hockey in high school. You would have died of mortification, presenting me with an athletic cup back then. And it would have been awkward to try to explain to my mom and dad why the new girl at school gave me a metallic silver athletic cup with the name Stanley scrawled across it in black Sharpie."

Her face is buried in her hands as she laughs, but she's nodding.

After a moment I add, "You know, I still have that thing—my Golden Pitcher Award."

She looks up, still flushed from giggling but obviously surprised.

"You do?" she asks, wide-eyed, her laughter forgotten.

"I do. It's on my dresser back home. It's my change jar—you know, for when I empty my pockets?" She nods. "I found it in a box of things from high school, back when Kate and I were splitting up and dividing up the spoils of marriage."

I hope she doesn't think I'm callous for talking about our divorce that way, but it's been ten years. I don't want her thinking I'm pining for Kate.

"Kate took the bowl I'd used for change—I think it was a wedding gift from her aunt—so I replaced it with my Golden Pitcher Award." I grin at her. "She wasn't about to get her hands on _that_ thing."

Bella smiles at the thought. "I can't believe you still have it."

"Well, who_, _in their right mind would part with a Golden Pitcher Award?" I ask.

She laughs. "Not Edward Cullen, I guess."

"Certainly not," I scoff.

She gives me a soft little smile. "That was a memorable day," she murmurs.

"It sure was," I agree, returning her smile.

She looks down, that soft smile still playing on her lips as she fiddles with a loose thread on the blanket. I think she must be remembering that day because I know she hasn't forgotten it. Everything was in that hockey story. The names and the sport may have been changed, but the events of that afternoon were the same: a championship game victory, a homemade trophy, and a team celebration first date. And later that same evening, a first tentative kiss, followed by a few more confident ones, after I'd asked her to prom and she'd said yes.

In my mind's eye I can see us, all dressed up just two weeks later: me in my tux and her in that midnight blue dress. The prettiest girl in the school was in my arms on the dance floor that evening. And later that night, on the couch in my parents' family room, she was in my arms once again—for the most overwhelming make-out session I'd ever experienced.

And with that, I recall something curious I remember reading in that first prom novel I stumbled across. And I just have to ask her about it.

"I've thought of another question I wanted to ask."

She looks up with a smile. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

"It's about _A Rite of Passage_…" I lick my lips, wavering for a second, wondering if I should just let this go. But I can't. Now that it's occurred to me, it'll drive me nuts, if I don't ask.

"It concerns the night of prom," I say. "Well, afterwards, actually. Something you wrote about…how you were feeling the next morning…" I can see by the look in her eyes that she maybe suspects where this is headed.

"Oh, no…" she groans, turning pink already, as her eyes flicker to that hole I dug in the sand earlier.

"Yes." I nod. "I have to ask… I mean, did that really _happen_? Is it even possible to pull a muscle in your _tongue_?"

Before my words are even completely out of my mouth, she has scooted up on the blanket, to plant her face in her hands in that little sand-bowl I'd dug, and she's making a sound that's half squeal, half groan. She's laughing though, her shoulders shaking as she buries her face in her hands.

"Oh my god! Edward!"

The words are muffled, since her face is in her hands, but I guess I have the answer to my question. And I'm laughing, rolling onto my back and and lying there, laughing helplessly. At her. Because she's one in a million. I never know what she's thinking or what she's going to say or do, but it's always an unexpected adventure.

"Oh my god, you're hateful!" she laughs, smacking my bicep with the back of her hand. But when I look at her, she's still smiling and blushing , so I know she doesn't mean it. Not really.

"So that's a _yes_?" I ask, because this is too good to just move on. "You pulled a muscle in your tongue, _kissing me_, after prom?"

She giggles. "I was trying to match your _zeal_, Edward!"

_Zeal_?! That's completely awesome. And I'm laughing again, though I can feel the heat of embarrassment infusing my face and ears, so I guess we're even.

"I _was_ rather zealous, wasn't I?" I snort. "What can I say? You brought out the zealot in me, Bella."

She hangs her head and just laughs—at me, at the memory, at this conversation, I don't know which. It doesn't really matter.

"Wait. Close your eyes and hold still," I tell her abruptly. She does so and I reach out, brushing a little sand off her forehead, from her dip into the sand-bowl, before it falls into her eyes. And then I study her face, looking for more sand.

And then I'm just studying her face. And it hits me hard: I don't want to leave tomorrow.

"Can I open my eyes?" she asks, opening one eye and I grin at her.

"Yeah, I think you're good. And if you're going to cheat and open one eye, you might as well open both."

She smiles and I'm just not ready for this to end.

"Have dinner with me tonight," I say.

Her smile vanishes and she blinks. And I wonder if maybe I should have asked, rather than urged? But then her smile reappears. And she shrugs. And nods.

"Okay."

* * *

**A/N: I smell a date. ;)**


	23. Wrap-Up at Second Beach

**Indelible**

**A/N: **I would never invent a pulled tongue muscle. It's a thing. I know this and ou can Google it. Not that I would ever personally experience such a thing and then incorporate it into a Twific. Oh…wait…uh…never mind… ;)

* * *

**Chapter 23: Wrap-Up on Second Beach **

I smile and turn away from Edward, reaching for my sunglasses. I've just said yes to dinner and now I need a distraction and something to shield me from those bright green sparkling eyes and that crooked smile. It's a lethal combination. Well, not lethal, but it does leave me feeling a bit tongue-tied.

_Tongue-tied. _

Like I haven't had worse.

Holy crap, I can't believe the conversation we just had.

This could only happen to me. Only _I_ would pull a muscle in my tongue the first time I made out with a boy. And only _I_ would document my lingual sprain in a semi-autobiographical romance novel, so that same boy could show up two decades later and bring it up in conversation. Because of course he's read that young teen novel. He's read all of them.

Sliding my sunglasses into place, I stretch out on the quilt, resting my cheek on my folded arms. He's watching me but I need a moment to process our conversation.

I close my eyes and sigh in contentment. "The sun feels so nice," I murmur, and upon hearing his soft echoing murmur of agreement, I think I've succeeded in diverting his attention from me.

As embarrassing as it is, knowing Edward has been inside my head, reading what I wrote of our past, I tell myself to just let it go. He actually seemed kind of flattered I included aspects of us in my books. And he may have inadvertently stumbled across that first novel, but he clearly sought out the others, and I think I should feel flattered about that.

I smile to myself, thinking about how much enjoyment he got out of making me squirm. That aspect of his personality hasn't changed. Not that he'd ever laugh at me. Well, he does. He just _did_, moments ago. But he's never done it meanly. I know he's not actually making fun of me, because he laughs at himself just as easily. He just gets so tickled at my reactions and responses to anything embarrassing involving him.

It's the blush. I know it is. He thinks it's entertaining and he's always been a master at getting it out of me. But I wonder if he knows I can always see it coming—that little spark in his eyes that tells me I'm in for it. And then there's the delight in his eyes afterward—like he's accomplished something grand.

He's something else. He really is. Edward Cullen may have grown up, but the sweet and funny boy I'll never forget is still there in the man. And after all this time, he can still make me feel a bit overwhelmed and off-balance.

Like now.

Because I've agreed to dinner with him tonight, and from the way he said it, it doesn't sound like Masen will be joining us. And I'm not sure what to think about that.

I open my eyes and sneak a quick peek from behind the safety of my dark lenses. He's lying on his back, dazzling green eyes closed, long lashes grazing his cheekbones. There's a hint of a smile on his lips, though it's anyone's guess whether it's due to the fine sunny day, my post-prom exposé, or his plans for our evening ahead.

I frown at Edward's attractive face, his features deceptively more boyish at rest.

Tonight isn't a date, is it?

It can't be a date.

I mean, of course it's not a date.

How could it be a date? He's leaving tomorrow.

Oh no... It's not a preamble to a one-night-stand, is it?

I nearly laugh out loud at that ridiculous thought. That's not Edward, nor is that me. And besides, how awkward would that make things when we see each other again in two months, when he returns to get Masen's truck, before settling him in Seattle?

And with that, I have my answer. I'll be stowing their truck at my house and taking them to the airport tomorrow. This dinner tonight is simply a thank you—a thoughtful gesture on Edward's part. There's no reason to overthink things.

We've managed to reestablish our friendship and we're both just having a nice time on this beautiful day.

And maybe I was expecting the Spanish Inquisition when I found out he had my books, but he really didn't ask much. Our conversation has simply been easy and filled with pleasant memories.

And he still has his Golden Pitcher Award. That's just crazy. It's in his home. With all my books. And he kept photos…

*I*

"Bella?"

The voice is velvety soft, low and familiar...

"Hmm…?

Fingertips press gently against my back...

"Bella?"

It's a verbal caress...

"Mmm... Edward…"

"Bella, wake up."

My eyes blink open with a start, and Edward's face is right there, his eyes wide and amused, and I'm one hundred and ten percent certain I just moaned his name.

"Oh gosh, I fell asleep!" I blurt, quickly scrambling up onto my knees. And with the abrupt change in position, the warmth of the sun, and his unexpected proximity, I am lightheaded.

"Oh, no. Head rush," I groan, leaning back down onto my elbows.

He chuckles softly and sits up. "Take it easy. You're allowed to doze off. You okay?"

I nod as I kneel upright more slowly. "Yeah, I just got a bit dizzy."

"I didn't mean to startle you, but your back is getting a little sunburned. I thought you might want turn over and maybe put on more sunscreen."

"Oh. Thank you," I tell him, realizing I wasn't dreaming before—Edward was just giving my back the fingertip press test for sunburn. We'd all put on sunscreen before walking down to the tide pools, but that was quite a while ago. Flexing my shoulder blades now, I can feel that my back is a little sunburned where it was difficult to reach.

Turning around and sitting up, I grab my backpack and scrounge around for the bottle of sunscreen I bought at Newton's this morning. After offering more to Edward, we both begin applying a fresh coat to our exposed skin.

When he offers to get my back, I accept, even though I'd declined the same offer earlier in the day. I'd just felt a bit skittish because of the personal nature of the gesture. Clearly I didn't manage very well on my own, and the thought of him putting sunscreen on my back no longer strikes me as being awkward or too familiar.

"I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner, but it doesn't look too bad," he says, kneeling behind me as I tuck my ponytail up into my cap. "I'll be careful," he adds.

I nod, and as he starts to smooth the cool lotion over my back, I shiver.

"Cold?" I can hear his grin in that single syllable.

"It's tolerable," I tell him, with a smile of my own.

His touch is sure, but gentle and unhurried. True to his word, he's particularly careful when he gets to the middle of my back, using a very light touch where the skin is already a little tender. I can tell he's taking care not to get sunscreen on my suit, but he's thorough, making sure my skin is protected all the way to just beneath the edges of my suit and straps.

This is so much better than tolerable. It's relaxing. It's so pleasant I sigh.

I can't recall the last time someone touched me like this.

And then an exhale tickles my ear.

"Would you do me?" he asks.

And I stop breathing.

_Would you do me? _

"Wh-what?" I look over my shoulder, wide-eyed.

He blinks back at me with a little frown of confusion.

"Would you get my back?" he asks. And I blush, instantly and furiously.

"Oh! Of course!"

His eyes widen and he colors slightly as well, obviously realizing how he framed his request and where my idiot mind went. And I fully expect him to burst into laughter, but he doesn't. I think he's trying really hard to be courteous, but he finally loses the battle with a smile he's fighting.

He clears his throat. "Bella, I just meant…you know…I slather _your_ back…you slather _mine_. I wasn't asking you to…"

My face just gets hotter. "I know! I get it! Quit smirking at me!"

"I'm not _smirking_!" he counters, laughing outright instead.

"_Yes_, you _are_! Oh, my god, just give me the stupid sunscreen and come sit up here!"

He does as he's told, handing me the bottle, and then he stands, moving to sit in front of where I sit, cross-legged. Thankfully, with his back to me, I don't have to look at his face, but I know he's still grinning.

"Stop laughing at me!" I smack him with the sunscreen bottle.

"I'm not!" he laughs.

"You said it like that on purpose," I grumble, reaching up and flicking his earlobe.

He jerks his head away with a laugh. "No, I didn't! I would never say, _'Would you do me?'_ to a woman."

"You just did," I remind him as flip the top of the sunscreen open. And he just laughs some more.

"Bella, I was clearly asking you to put sunscreen on my back."

"Well, and here you go..." He arches his back with a cry of surprise as I squirt an excessive amount of cool sunscreen straight down his spine. And now I'm giggling with glee.

"You really shouldn't have done that," he says menacingly. And then he swiftly reaches back on either side of him, grabbing both of my knees, his long fingers threatening to grasp tighter and tickle.

"No, don't!" I yelp, dropping the bottle and trying to pry his hands off. He's laughing and I start shrieking. "You deserved it, Edward! Let go! You wanted to be _slathered_!"

He finally relents, replacing his hands in his lap, and shaking his head with a chuckle, as I begin slathering.

Holy crap. I really overdid it. This is going to take a while. Sunscreen is about to ooze down into his board shorts, so I start low, smearing it in over his lower back and out to his waist. I slowly work my way up the curve of his back, over smooth skin and firm muscle, and all the way out to his sides. He utters a low growl of contentment as I knead the sunscreen into his skin, and I smile.

He has a very nice back…

And of course he has an exceptional front…

And his sides certainly aren't lacking…

It would be so much easier to deal with him if he weren't so attractive.

It's not just his physical aspect. His personality is incredibly appealing, too.

I have to stop thinking like this. He leaves tomorrow, then I'll see him again for a day or two in June, and then… Well, college kids go home for the holidays, their employed parents don't come to visit them.

I finish massaging my way across his shoulders and the sleek muscles at the tops of his arms, making sure the sunscreen has been completely absorbed.

"There. All done," I finally announce, giving his back a little pat.

"Are you sure?" He turns and I laugh at his hopeful expression.

"Yeah, I'm quite sure. Your back can now withstand the rays of a thousand suns."

He chuckles as he scoots over to his side of the blanket, thanking me for my stellar slathering skills. I stretch my legs out in front of me and prop myself up on my elbows. Looking out at the sparkling water, a piece of driftwood catches my eye and I follow its progress, dipping and bobbing its way to shore.

"This should be interesting," Edward says, and I turn, wondering what he's referring to, but he's looking away, up the beach. I look past him, in the same direction, and I see Fitz in his bright orange bandana, heading back this way, chasing shorebirds. And then I see Edward's son and I sit fully upright.

"Is that a _girl_ on Masen's back?"

"Yes, it certainly is," Edward replies, still looking to the north. And then he turns, giving me an amused look. "Like I said, _this_ should be interesting."

The girl's arms are clasped over Masen's chest, her golden skin contrasting with the paler tone of his. Her bare feet dangle at his sides, and her long, dark hair is whipping about in the breeze. They're talking over his shoulder and the girl releases an arm to point farther along the beach, up from the shore.

Masen calls Fitz and he lopes back to them as they make their way up the sand to a group of teenaged girls. A tall girl, with red hair in a poufy topknot, stands up, and when Masen turns and looks in our direction, the redhead does as well. They speak for another moment, then Masen departs, heading for us with his passenger.

Edward looks back at me and smiles. "He's going to be heartbroken when I tell him he can't keep her." And I laugh.

Fitz trots ahead, making a beeline for his make-shift water bowl, before plopping down in the sand. He's wet and sandy and it's clear from his smile that he's been having a terrific time. It's also clear he'll need a good hosing when we get home.

"Hey, Dad, Bella," Masen says in greeting, upon his approach.

"Hello, Masen," Edward replies blandly, like his son isn't carrying a strange girl on his back.

"Hi," I say, looking from Masen to the doe-eyed girl just over his shoulder. She's petite but looks to be about his age, and she's cute, though it's clear she's self-conscious and maybe slightly anxious.

"Uh, this is Bree…" Masen says, nodding over his shoulder, and pausing for us to exchange hellos. "She was climbing along the rocks up at the headland when she twisted her ankle and cut the heel of her other foot."

"Oh, you poor thing," I tell her as I look down and notice some blood between the toes of her right foot. Edward notices it too, because he gets up to examine her injuries and then I stand to get a closer look, too.

"It looks like your ankle's just sprained," Edward says after looking her over. "But that cut will probably need a couple stitches...or maybe just a few steri-strips."

"That's what I told her," Masen affirms. "Do we have any bottles of water left? I told her I'd irrigate the wound and bandage it for her, and then wrap her ankle to stabilize it, until she can get proper medical attention."

"Yeah, we've still got a couple waters." Edward turns to the ice chest and I think he's trying not to smile at his son's medical emergency jargon.

"Oh, can you grab my shirt from my backpack, too, Dad?" Masen asks. "I'll use that for bandaging." When Edward hesitates, Masen does a quick eye roll. "Dad, it's an old shirt." He looks over his shoulder at the girl. "But don't worry. It's clean," he assures her.

She nods at him as Edward gets the requested medical supplies: water bottle and light blue T-shirt.

"I can't believe I was so stupid," Bree sighs, addressing Edward and me, as we help her down to sit on the blanket. "I got bored just lying around, so I went for a walk up to the headland. I shouldn't have gone out so far alone. When I realized the tide was coming up fast, I got worried I was going to get cut off from shore. I was trying to hurry and I guess I got careless. I'm just lucky your son saw me and came to help." She smiles shyly at Masen—already ripping his T-shirt into long strips. "Thank you, again, for rescuing me and for bringing me all the way back here."

"Well, I couldn't just let you crawl the whole way," Masen says, fixing her with his deep blue eyes and giving her the crooked Cullen smile.

"You need any help, Mase?" Edward asks, when Masen begins to clean her cut with bottled water.

"No, I know what I'm doing. I pay attention in those Red Cross classes." His eyes flicker to Bree's and she looks impressed. Edward's eyes meet mine and I think he might be tempted to roll his eyes, but I can tell he's proud of his son, too, following in his grandfather's and his own erstwhile medical footsteps.

"Do you live here in La Push?" I ask Bree.

"No, I live in Seattle. My friend Vicki and I drove out to spend spring break with my cousins in Forks."

"Oh. Do you need a ride back to Forks? Or can we call someone for you?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I have my car but Vicki can drive it. And cell phone service is bad out here, so I'll call my aunt when I get back up the trail."

I nod, wondering how she'll get back up the trail with two injured feet, but then I look at Masen and somehow I don't think it'll be an issue.

While he is finishing up with her cut, Bree's friend and cousins join us, and she introduces them. The girls huddle together, looking on, though it appears Vicki, Becca, Rachel and Sarah can't quite decide whether to focus their attention on Bree or on her attractive young medical attendant.

Once Masen finishes wrapping her ankle, it's just as I suspected: _He_ will be transporting her up the hill. Despite our offers to assist. Or our offers to leave early—because he still wants to throw a Frisbee around with his dad for a while, once he gets back.

I can't remember what it's like to be that young, with such limitless energy. I was probably inside, reading a book during those years.

We watch as Masen takes off on his trek up the beach, with a girl on his back and two giggly girls on either side. After a moment I turn to Edward.

"Are we _sure_ he's going to come back?"

Edward laughs. "Good point. For all we know, this is the last we'll ever see of him."

"You know, that was awfully cute—the way he took care of her," I tell him.

"Are you referring to the way he _irrigated her wound_ or the way he _stabilized her ankle_?" he asks, with a smirk and a quirk of a brow.

"Both!" I laugh. "He was so very serious but he had such a good bedside…well, _beachside..._manner."

"Yeah, he's really into becoming a doctor, probably more so than I was at his age," he says, smiling fondly at his lanky son, striding up the beach in the distance.

Turning back to me, Edward asks if I feel like taking a walk up along the shore, and when I agree, he extends his hands for mine, and pulls me to my feet. I turn back and grab his black Nike cap and tell him to put it on—his nose and cheekbones are looking a little pink.

As we start walking, he turns to me. "You know, I was thinking, you did remarkably well with the whole bloody-foot thing before," he teases. "I can't believe you didn't faint. I remember a time when I had to carry you up to Mrs. Cope in the nurse's office, back when we had that blood-typing lab in Banner's class."

"You didn't have to carry me, Edward. You were insistent. And that was twenty years ago. I wouldn't be much of an adult if I couldn't handle a little blood. I can actually kill bugs on my own now, too."

"No running and shrieking?" he asks.

I shrug. "I'll still run and shriek if it's a bee or a wasp."

And that's enough to elicit a crooked smile from him.

*I*

It's after four o'clock and we're headed back to Forks in Masen's truck. I've got less than three hours before Edward returns to pick me up for dinner at 7:00. The four of us are all sunbaked and salty from our day at Second Beach. Edward is driving, once again, and Masen is dozing in the backseat. He's as quiet as Fitz, back in the truck's bed. They're both exhausted from their adventures.

We're just leaving La Push when Masen's phone dings with an alert. It's plugged into the phone-charger and resting in the drink-holder up front. Seconds later, it dings a second time.

"I'll take that, Dad," says the groggy voice in the back seat. Edward unplugs the phone and hands it to his son, over his shoulder. After a moment, Masen chuckles, and Edward's eyes flicker up to the rearview mirror.

I peek into the backseat to see Masen smiling as he looks at his phone.

"It's a photo of Bree on crutches—and a text from her," he explains, when he catches us.

"I guess she took your advice and went straight to the clinic in Forks," I tell him.

"Yeah." He nods, looking back at his phone's screen. "She wrote, '_you were right. just a sprain and two steri-strips.(no stitches.) the doctor said you did good work and come see him about a job when you finish college and med school._'" He looks up, grinning. "See, Dad? I knew what I was doing."

"You did," Edward affirms, nodding. "I was watching you."

Not two minutes later, my own phone signals a text as we turn down my street.

"Let me guess... You got a text from Bree, too?" Edward says.

I laugh as I get my phone out of my backpack and look to see who it is. "Nope. It's Angela."

He nods and I read the text to myself.

_**I'm dying here, B! How was your day with Edward?**_

I send her a quick reply.

_**Just getting back from the beach now. The day isn't over. He's taking me out to dinner tonight.**_

Her response is lightning-quick.

_**OMG! You have a DATE with EDWARD! Call me ASAP!**_

I drop my phone back into my backpack and turn to Edward with a smile.

"Angela says 'hi'."

* * *

**A/N: A little more fun in the sun. And slathering. Slathering is a good thing. :)**


	24. About Three Things

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Time to check in with Angela.

* * *

**Chapter 24: About Three Things**

After we've hosed down Masen's truck bed and Fitz, and Edward and his son have left, I finally get the chance to call Angela. I know she's dying for an update, because she sent two additional texts: a question mark followed by an exclamation mark.

"It's NOT a date, Angela," I say, dispensing with a more standard phone greeting.

"_Oh. Is his son going, too?"_ Bless her. She ignores my lack of hello like a trooper, simply joining me in my cut to the chase.

"It didn't _sound_ like his son would be there, but I couldn't very well ask for confirmation. That would have been awkward. But before they left, Masen did say _see you tomorrow_, not _see you later_."

"_Well, there you go. It's a date."_ There's a happily smug quality to her voice.

"Unless Edward hadn't yet told his son that we're _all_ going out to dinner tonight."

"_But when Masen said, 'see you tomorrow,' that was Edward's cue to mention it." _

"Maybe Edward didn't hear him."

"_Maybe not. Especially if he was preoccupied, you know, thinking about his upcoming…date."_ I hear her smiling.

"You're such an annoying optimist."

"_And you're such a dismal pessimist!" _she laughs.

"Angela, I'm just trying to be realistic. What would be the point of a single date with someone who lives a couple thousand miles away? I think dinner tonight—Masen or not—is just Edward's way of thanking me for keeping Masen's truck here, and a thoughtful way to cap off our… I don't know what to call it… _reunion_?"

"_Hmm…I guess that's a possibility." _She doesn't sound too thrilled with my take on this dinner._ "Well, let's skip the date debate for now. How was the beach?"_

"Oh, it was perfect—warm enough in the sun, the breeze wasn't bad, but of course the water was absolutely frigid, so we didn't…"

"_I don't want the beach report, Swan! Give me the Edward report! Wait…did you wear the two-piece?"_ She sounds so hopeful. I hate having to crush that.

"No. I wore the one-piece."

She coughs the word 'chicken' and starts making clucking noises, but I'm not offended.

"Okay, stop it! You made your point!" I laugh. "Anyway, it _was_ the perfect day and I had a great time. So many little things reminded us of the past and we reminisced about…" I gasp as the biggest revelation of the day leaps into my thoughts.

"Oh, my god! Angela! He has my _books!_"

"_What?! No!"_ I think her voice just spanned a couple octaves and back.

"Yes! Edward has my novels! He's read all of them!"

"_How did he find out about them?"_

"He just stumbled onto them! And once he started reading, he suspected they might be mine. But after today… Well, now he _knows_."

"_So he just asked you about them, point-blank?"_

"No! I had to practically _pry_ it out of him. Of course, I had no idea what was coming…"

"_Wait. Stop. Start at the very beginning and don't leave anything out. So, you left from Newton's and you went back home…" _

I nod, picking up the thread, "Yeah, so anyway, I wore the green one-piece with black shorts, a gray hoodie, and my Mariner's cap…"

And I continue, for the better part of an hour, relating everything to my overly-invested best friend. She listens raptly the whole while, and together we're smiling, sighing, cringing, and giggling at my experiences with Edward Cullen &amp; Son.

When I finally wrap up the day's summary, Angela sighs. It's a long, dreamy sigh and I can just see her, hugging herself.

"_What a lovely day you had! Not just you…obviously Edward and his son did, too."_

"I think so." I smile, nodding to myself, reflecting on how they seemed to enjoy themselves.

"_Did you take any pictures?"_

"Pictures? No. I… I didn't even think of that."

"_Shoot! I'd love to see those two, but I can imagine… Like father, like son. Both of them charming and attractive, sweeping women off their feet with the old sunscreen-slathering trick and the old emergency first aid trick…"_

I laugh. "Angela, I _was_ getting sunburned! And that girl _did_ need medical attention of some sort!"

"_How adorable is Edward's son? I'll bet that girl loved being rescued, tended to, and carried all over Second Beach by a handsome young stranger. Those girls must have giggled and swooned the whole way home!"_

I grin, certain she's right. "He really was terribly cute—as was Edward, reacting to the whole situation. It's funny…watching Masen, I sometimes feel like I'm watching an alternate universe young Edward, because they're so alike. And then I look at Edward—the man—and I see things I never expected. It's been kind of fascinating, watching Edward in the role of father to a teenaged son, and seeing the wonderful dynamic between them."

"_They sound close, so he must do a good job in the father-role."_

"I think so, too."

"_And it sounds like Edward is doing a good job in the role of former boyfriend."_

"Angela…" I warn_._

"_I'm just saying, I think it's kind of remarkable how quickly the two of you have managed to reestablish a friendship, after all this time. You've slipped right back into that easy affinity you always had for each other. I also think it says a lot, that Edward has been willing to share this reconnection between the two of you with his son. Oh, and can I just say… Major props to that kid, for giving you and his father time alone to flirt."_

"Flirt?! We weren't _flirting_!" I hear a derisive snort from her.

"_Oh, puh-leeze, Swan! Every moment you two were alone was flirty! All those trips down memory lane, the stolen glances, the touches and tickle-threats, the innuendo of the 'would you do me' conversation, and that touchy-feely sunscreen-fest… _

"_I'm so jealous! I can't remember the last time Ben was flirty with me. Wait… this morning he offered to help fold and put away the kids' laundry—that was pretty flirty. And kind of hot." _And now I'm laughing._ "Don't laugh!" _she admonishes with a giggle_. "Those rippling muscles in his back and arms when he was folding… His khakis, hugging his tight butt when he bent over… That display of raw masculine strength when he picked up the laundry basket… " _

She can't continue. She just dissolves into giggles with me. I don't know whose physique she's describing, but it's not sweet Pastor Ben's.

"_See?!" _She's breathless from laughing._ "Your day was far flirtier than mine."_

"Okay, I did have a flirty day," I admit, considering her comparison. "But that's Edward. Like you said, he's attractive and charming—hell, he can be downright dazzling—but he could be that way with other women, too. He knows how to turn on the charm."

"_I suppose, __but don't convince yourself Edward doesn't feel…something…for you, Bella. He cared enough to seek you out after all this time. And when you were convinced you didn't want to see him again after that first day, he persisted, turning up again yesterday morning. He spent last evening with you and wanted you to meet his son. He stayed an extra day, invited you to spend it with him, and now he's taking you to dinner. All that means something, Bella." _

I'm already shaking my head as I formalize my thoughts.

"Angela, I can't start contemplating what-ifs and maybes. The last few days have been so unexpected and really rather extraordinary…and I'm truly glad I got more insight into the past…and have had the opportunity to get to know him a little again, but _this_ isn't Edward's _reality_. He's on a vacation. He goes home to his real life tomorrow and I just…" I hesitate, trying to find the right words, because… Ugh.

"_You just…?"_

I sigh. "I just…don't want to _miss_ him, Angela."

"_Oh, B." _Her voice has that soft, maternal sound. It's a verbal hug. _"It's too late. You've been missing him for years. But from everything you've told me about the past couple days, I suspect he's been missing you, too. All those memories you share… I don't think he wants to let go of them, any more than you do. _

"_I can understand not wanting to contemplate what-ifs and maybes. Nobody wants to set themselves up for hurt, hoping for something that might not happen. And after just two days, no one in their right mind would just suddenly declare themselves. But I think it says a lot that you and Edward managed to iron out the past in such a short time. Maybe tonight, during your da…"_

"Dinner?" I say, interrupting her before she can say the wrong word.

"_Yes... Dinner… __Maybe tonight, during dinner, you'll share your thoughts and feelings about the present. This could be Edward's way of thanking you for keeping his son's truck, or a thoughtful way to cap off your reunion, but don't close yourself off to the possibility that he might like to continue this connection in some way."_

"Yeah, I… Maybe..." I nod, glancing at the clock, and my eyes bug out.

"Holy crap! It's already six o'clock! Listen, Angela, I've got to get going. I still have to shower and figure out what I'm going to wear on this da..."

"_Dinner?" _she reminds me politely. Like I can't hear her smirking.

"Yes. Dinner. Exactly."

She snickers. _"Okay. Have a good time. And I'm looking forward to an answer on the dinner-date debate."_

I laugh. She's kind of relentless. "Okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks, Angela." I disconnect the call, positive her optimistic little fingers are crossed already.

*I*

I stick with the third outfit. Not that I only tried on three, because I tried on four. I vetoed calling Angela, figuring she'd suggest I wear the blue two-piece I didn't wear to the beach today—just to ramp things up. And for a moment I missed having Alice's input, until I imagined an 80's-Madonna-retro-look, and that thought ran away. So the third outfit it is—midnight-wash skinny jeans and my V-necked, plum blouse. The color is good with the bit of sun I got today, and I look casual but nice. I'm out of time, anyway, so this is it.

I head downstairs, wondering if I should have spent more time on my hair, or put it up, in a…something. Maybe I should have put on a little more make-up. Or less? I check my mirror, to see if I have a mascara-oops, but I'm good. My nails could use a trim, but I just heard a car door shut out front, and it's likely that's him, so this is me.

Fitz is curled on the couch, worn out from his busy day at the beach. When the doorbell rings, he opens his eyes, looking from the door to me, checking to see if I'd like him to do anything useful. Like bark. Or wag.

"It's okay, Fitzy. Go back to sleep," I whisper, tiptoeing to the door, and he just sighs, relieved to be relieved of his usual duties.

I peek through the peephole, and since I won't have many more chances, I take a good, long look at irresistible Edward Cullen.

This afternoon's scruff has been shaved away, leaving his chiseled good looks on full display once again. His startlingly beautiful green eyes are only more vivid against the glow of tanned skin. Or maybe it's the fine green plaid shirt he's wearing. It seems vaguely familiar, though I can't think why. My eyes continue down past that untucked, slim-fitting shirt, to long legs in black jeans. He's kind of dressed up.

He reaches up, running his fingers through his hair, then drops his hand down to his collar, scratching his neck as he looks toward the front picture window. Rocking on his feet, he looks back at the door and then down. He's fidgety and I wonder if he's as nervous as I am.

At least he knows whether or not this is a date.

I open the door and smile at the crooked grin and bright eyes beaming back at me.

"Hi, Edward. Come on in."

"Hey, Bella." His voice is as warm as his eyes, taking a quick trip over my face and down my frame. "You look pretty," he says and now I'm warm, with the whole smile-eyes-voice-words thing.

"Thank you. You do, too." His eyes widen and his smile broadens into a big fat grin, and I'm suddenly aghast, realizing I just told him he looked _pretty_! Shit!

"Quit grinning, Edward! I didn't mean _pretty_ and you know it. I meant you look han…" Shit! "Nice. You look very nice. I like that shirt. It's a good color for you and your eyes." Oh my god. Why can't I just shut up? "It's a very nice shirt." Okay, I'm done.

He hasn't quit grinning, but he looks down, as if he's not sure what shirt he's wearing.

"Thank you. It's a little scratchy," he says. And it must be the look of confusion I give him, because he reaches up and rubs at an eyebrow as he snorts a little embarrassed laugh. "That probably sounded odd. But it hasn't been washed yet," he says, scratching again at his collar. "My remaining clean shirt choices left a lot to be desired for a dinner out, so I went shopping..."

"And you bought this one in _Newton's_!" I exclaim triumphantly, with the familiar-shirt-mystery solved.

"Yeeaaah…?" He looks totally bewildered by my sudden outburst and I can't help giggling at his expression.

"I thought your shirt looked familiar," I explain. "I saw it this morning."

"You were buying men's shirts?" Now he looks even more puzzled.

"No!" I laugh. "I just saw it on a mannequin in the men's department, up near the cash registers. I was buying bathing suits."

"Oh!" He laughs. "Oh… that green one you wore today?"

"Yes. And a blue two-piece." I'm sure he doesn't really care, but he's polite, so he nods. And then he breaks out the smirk.

"Well, so maybe I'll get to see the blue one when I come back in June."

Shit. But he's thinking about another trip to the beach? With me? In my two piece? Ugh. Angela's chicken-clucks echo in my mind.

"Maybe," I reply doubtfully, because he could also simply be teasing me.

"So… I'll just grab my things and…we can get going?" I suggest.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure."

He waits at the door, and when I return, juggling my purse as I pull on my cardigan, he assists.

"Will you be warm enough in this?" His fingers linger on my sleeve.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Unless we're dining al fresco?" I look up at him as we step out the door. "We're not eating bland burritos at the picnic tables outside the taquería, are we?"

He barks a quick laugh as we head down the porch steps and out to the truck. "No, no chance of that. I wouldn't do that to you. Or me."

"So, where are we going?"

"Well, it's been such a nice day, I thought we'd take a little drive. Do you trust me?" He gazes down at me with a mischievous look, raising a lone brow.

"Of course."

"Hmm… Maybe you shouldn't. I could be taking you to some dive bar for beers and bratwurst."

I laugh. "Beers and brats are good."

"I'll tuck that away for future reference," he chuckles, opening the truck's passenger door for me. Once I'm in, I watch as he rounds the truck to the driver's side. He's so watchable, with that long-legged, easy stroll of his.

We take off up the street, and though we were together in this same truck earlier in the day, it feels different now, with just the two of us—like we're stepping back in time once again. For a second, I wonder if we might be headed to Bella Italia—our old favorite restaurant in Port Angeles. But that's unlikely, since we'll be there tomorrow. Besides, he said we'd be taking a little drive, and that's an hour's drive.

When we get to Forks Avenue, he turns left to head south on the 101, not north, toward Port Angeles. And as he drives, I point out a few things at this end of town that might be of interest to him. I quiet, though, when we near the cemetery.

I can't see Dad's gravesite from the road, but I know he's there, and a sudden wave of grief hits me. Unbidden images begin rolling through my mind as I stare out my window with a lump in my throat. I'm startled when Edward's hand suddenly enfolds mine, bringing me back to the present. I look over to see tender concern in his eyes.

"You okay?" he asks gently, giving my hand a squeeze.

I nod dumbly, blinking and swallowing back the unexpected surge of emotion.

"I'm sorry…" His thumb rubs across my knuckles.

I squeeze his hand reassuringly and clear my throat. "I'm okay. Just…distract me?"

"Do you want music?" he offers.

I shake my head. "I'd rather listen to you talk."

"About what?" he asks, smiling.

I shrug. "What's Masen doing? I bet he's exhausted after his rescue efforts this afternoon."

He exhales a quiet laugh. "You'd certainly think so. I figured he'd crash for a while when we got back to the hotel, but when I got back from Newton's, he was still awake. And…still busily texting on his phone." He shoots me a pointed look.

"Oh, yeah?" I smile at the implication. "Checking up on today's patient?"

He nods. "Extensively so. They were texting back and forth all afternoon. He finally just called her to talk. It turns out Bree and her friend will also be attending U-Dub in the fall, so Mase was excited he knows two other in-coming freshmen. He told her he could show her around the campus when she gets there, since he'll have been there for summer session. I didn't have the heart to remind him she lives in Seattle and probably already has friends at U-Dub, who could do the same. I didn't want to burst his bubble." I laugh and he just shakes his head, but it's cute how he just goes along with his son's enthusiasm.

"That's sweet—him planning ahead like that," I tell Edward. "He sounds kind of smitten."

Edward nods and then shrugs. "I think it might be mutual. Before I left, that same carload of girls picked him up to go to the diner. After dinner, they're all heading to First Beach, for an end-of-spring-break bonfire with a big group of kids from the high school."

"That's awesome. I'm sure spending the last evening of his vacation with five cute, giggly girls beats hanging out in a hotel room, watching TV."

Edward chuckles. "Yeah, he wasn't complaining. And I couldn't say no to the bonfire experience." He looks over with a grin. "Because you know…been there, done that. And he knows that, so he thought it'd be cool to get to do the same. And they won't be out too late—apparently Bree's Aunt Carmen imposes a strict eleven o'clock curfew on her girls."

I laugh. And then I'm curious. "How on earth is that poor girl going to a beach bonfire _on crutches_?"

Edward shoots me a knowing smirk. "Do you really think it'll be an issue?"

And it hits me. "Oh, duh!" I laugh. "That poor, sweet boy of yours—carrying that girl everywhere. She's tiny, but still, that's quite a workout."

Edward's eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins. "Yeah, at least First Beach is easier to get to. But you're probably right—he'll be sore tomorrow." His smile fades abruptly. "Oh, hell…" he huffs. "_I'll_ probably be forced to carry _him _piggyback tomorrow."

I burst into laughter as he looks over, obviously pleased with himself. The image of him carrying his lanky teen piggyback is ridiculous. Until the picture morphs in my mind, to Edward as a daddy, carrying a small boy around on his back and shoulders. And for some reason, the thought leaves me feeling a bit wistful, wishing I'd had the opportunity to see the real thing.

I look down, surprised to see my hand still in Edward's. My moment of distress back at the cemetery has passed and I worry this might become awkward, so I give his hand a squeeze and release it, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ear.

"Thank you." I tell him. "For before. And for the distraction."

His hand resumes its position on the steering wheel. "Of course," he says, looking out at the road ahead. And now I'm wondering if it was more awkward that I took my hand away.

*I*

We drive past Ruby Beach, still heading south. Clouds have begun gathering but it doesn't look like it'll rain—at least not for a while. After another few minutes, Edward pulls into the parking lot of The Oceanview Resturant. It looks fairly new—though it could be ten years old, for all I know.

"Have you been here before?" he asks as he grabs a jacket from the backseat and we climb out of the truck.

"No. I haven't been down this way in years. Most of this past year since I've been back, Dad was recuperating, so we usually ate at home. If we went out, it was to the diner, or Dad wasn't going." Edward smiles. He knew how particular Charlie could be.

"Well, this place had good reviews online and the menu looked decent," Edward says as we near the entrance. "And I figured we could maybe catch a nice sunset." He glances at the sky. "As long as the clouds hold off." He reaches for the door, ushering me into the restaurant with his hand on my back.

"Welcome to The Oceanview," the hostess says, and as her eyes travel to Edward, stepping up behind me, she adds a winning smile. "How are _you_, tonight?" she asks, seemingly addressing only him, but maybe it's just my imagination.

"_We're_ fine, thank you," he replies, so he must have noticed too. "_We_ have a reservation for two—_Cullen._" He gives her a perfunctory smile, then looks down, giving me a more genuine smile. And a wink. I have to stifle my laughter. He still has it, and he still knows it, but he certainly doesn't abuse it.

"Right this way, Mr. Cullen," the hostess gushes, and I can only assume she means me as well.

Edward's hand is on the small of my back as we follow her to a table on a window overlooking the beach. Once we're seated and given menus, she rattles off a few specials—primarily to Edward—and with a final winsome smile, she tells him to enjoy his meal. Again, I'll have to assume that included me.

When my eyes meet Edward's, I suppress a giggle. I can see he's annoyed. But I know I'm not nearly as handsome as he is, so the hostess' lapse is somewhat understandable. Still, that kind of fawning display used to irritate him, and apparently still does.

"This place is great," I say, looking around the open and airy dining room, attempting to divert his thoughts. He eyes the interior and agrees. It's all cream, muted blues, and grays—the palette of the sand, sea, and sky outside. And the view is exceptional, with the sun blazing low in the sky, as it makes its descent to the horizon.

We look over the menu, selecting a bottle of wine and an appetizer to start. Thankfully, our server—a pleasant young man named Alec—doesn't seem to find either Edward or me particularly alluring as he takes our order.

Returning a few minutes later, Alec pours our pinot grigio and takes our dinner order. Edward has decided on the hazelnut-crusted, pan-seared halibut—since he's in seafood-country, he says. I go with the more exotic Moroccan Chicken—not that I'm in Morocco—but I want something out of the ordinary. Once our waiter leaves, Edward leans in and picks up his wineglass

"Well…" he says, holding his glass forward, as if to make a toast, and I pick up my glass, curious about what he'll say. He opens his mouth, only to close it, clearly deliberating on his words. It makes me smile. I don't think either of us knows exactly what to think of this, but I think it's clear he's enjoyed the past few days as much as I have. Angela's words come to mind—about sharing our thoughts and feelings about the present—and I decide to seize the moment and head in that direction.

"_Wellll_…" I mimic, drawing out the word with a smile. "I think the past couple days have gone _well_. I never imagined I'd see you again, Edward. I didn't even think I'd want to. But I _am_ truly glad you turned up and I've really enjoyed the time we've spent together."

"_Wellll_…Bella…" he smiles affectionately as he follows my lead, mimicking me in return. "I'm thankful you feel differently now. I didn't know how things would go, when I decided I'd try to see you, but this has been…more than anything I could have hoped for. I've really enjoyed this time with you, too. So maybe…" He gives me a crooked smile as he raises his glass once again. "To time well-spent?"

I smile and I agree, echoing his words as I touch my glass to his. The wine is crisp and fragrant, with a hint of something summery, and we agree we made an excellent choice as we savor our wine and enjoy the view of the sun dipping into the sea, gilding the water's shimmering surface.

When I look back at Edward, he seems lost in thought. I'm about to ask what he's thinking, but just then Alec returns with our appetizer.

The crab cakes look delicious—crispy and piping hot. We split them up and dig in, deciding we made another good choice, as we dip tasty bits of crab cake into luscious aioli. After a few bites, I remember what I wanted to ask.

"What were you thinking about before?"

He frowns slightly before replying. "I'm not sure how to explain it… It's just strange to think I very nearly missed this opportunity to see you, but I'm so thankful I didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if I'd never logged onto the Forks Forum before we left Chicago, I wouldn't have tried to contact you. I would have come to Forks with Masen for the day and left. But when I saw your dad's obituary…" He hesitates, eyeing me carefully, probably worried I might cry. But I nod encouragingly and he continues.

"When I read what had happened…it hit me hard. And then when I got to the end of the article, and saw you had reverted to your maiden name and moved back home, I was stunned. I figured it meant you had divorced. That's when I knew I had to try to see you. On top of your father's death, I couldn't stand thinking Jake might have done something hurtful."

Of course Edward, being Edward, would jump to the conclusion that Jacob had hurt me.

"And?" I twirl my wineglass slowly on the tabletop. "What did you think last night, when I told you I pretty much ruined that marriage?"

"That didn't upset me very much," he says, with a shrug and a little grin.

I can't help laughing at him and his grin. All these years later, he still can't stand Jake. How could he possibly still harbor feelings of jealousy toward him?

"You know, you're kind of terrible. But not in a bad way."

He laughs. "I can live with myself. I guess I've just always felt protective of you."

"I don't understand why."

He shrugs. "I'm not sure I do either. I mean, it's obvious you can take care of yourself, but…there's just something about you... I used to think you were kind of like a kitten. Sweet, cute, funny, a little awkward, kind of fragile and vulnerable, but feisty and self-reliant at the same time. And even though we haven't gotten to spend very much time together, you still seem like that girl, for the most part."

"Awkward?" I ask, because the other adjectives sounded rather complimentary, but _awkward_? And I still seem like that girl?

He laughs. "Not physically… Some of the unexpected things you say? Maybe it's the blush-thing?" He smiles that crooked smile and I can feel myself blushing. And of course he notices. I can see it in his twinkling eyes. Dammit. I roll my eyes in my pink face and the self-reliant kitten in me takes the conversation back to where it started.

"Well, I'm glad this visit _did_ happen, Edward. For whatever reason. And I'm so thankful you came back yesterday morning and we got the chance to talk things out. It's been great since then, just reconnecting and catching up. This has given me something else to focus on, you know? A respite from the grief and decision-making. So, thank you, for being here and doing that."

He reaches across the table for my hand. It's warm and comforting. "I wish I could do more and that I didn't have to leave tomorrow," he says, rubbing his thumb across my knuckles. "I'd take off a few more days if I could, but I have to save vacation days to return in June. I just wish we had more time right now." His expression is earnest and it makes me happy to know he feels that way.

"I wish we did too." I hope he knows I'm not just saying it—that I truly mean it. "But you have work, Masen has school and I have to start dealing with Dad's affairs and the house. We can't very well shirk our duties."

We finish up our appetizer and Alec returns a few minutes later, clearing our dishes and pouring more wine.

The sun has disappeared into the sea, leaving the sky and clouds above a glorious spectrum of amber, blood red, and rich purple, fading into the deep blue of encroaching nightfall.

I glance over to see Edward's lips curved in a little smile. Not at me. To himself.

"What are you smiling at over there?" I ask, folding my arms on the table and leaning closer.

He looks over, surprised, and shakes his head with a smile.

"I was just thinking about yesterday… When I hopped the fence into your backyard in the morning, I never imagined the day going the way it did. If anyone had told me I'd be spending my evening at the Swan house, eating lasagna with you in that kitchen, watching a baseball game in that living room, and hanging out in that old swing on the porch—eating ice cream like we used to—I'd never have believed it. It was a page—or _pages_—right out of the past."

I nod, filled with warm memories—both from last night and years ago.

"I didn't see last evening coming either," I reply, "But it was good. Fun…and yet kind of weird at the same time, don't you think? Like having one foot in the past and one in the present. And maybe two parts comfortable, one part awkward?"

He chuckles at my assessment. "Yeah. I would have to agree on those proportions. You still seem like you, and I think I'm still me, but it was definitely odd, having my kid thrown into the mix." His comment makes me laugh.

"That felt kind of strange for me too, but not at all in a bad way. Spending last evening and today with you and Masen was very enjoyable. You're so entertaining together. It's kind of delightful, just watching you interact and be father and son. And maybe because you seem so alike, it feels almost like I'm watching you parent yourself." He gets a good laugh at that and I wind up giggling at my own admission.

"Mase has always been fairly easy to parent," he says. "We see eye to eye on most things, and have a lot of shared interests, so we've always done a lot together. I think that made us closer. We're friends, besides being father and son—though sometimes he seems to think he's the parent. Or my wingman." I raise my brows in the hopes he'll elaborate, but Edward waves it off. "You don't want to know," he says, rolling his eyes. "Suffice it to say, there are times he thinks he knows more after seventeen years of life, than I do after thirty-nine."

I smile. I can only imagine what goes on between this pair.

Our dinners arrive then, and Edward is as happy with his halibut and bacon-chive potatoes, as I am with my chicken and mint-carrot couscous. We're so pleased, we feel compelled to share. And as we sit there, exchanging bites, I realize we've spontaneously slipped into past behaviors once again.

"Now what are _you_ smiling at?" Edward asks and I look up, realizing I've been caught in my own thoughts.

"Is it weird we're practically eating off each other's plates? I mean, after all this time?"

He smiles. "Doesn't feel weird to me, but I suppose one person's normal could be another person's weird. Is it weird to you?"

"No, not really. It's nice. I've always liked the smorgasbord effect." He laughs. "But I was just remembering… the last guy I dated…" Edward frowns. "It was over a year ago, in Port Angeles, and we only went out a few times..." Edward nods, his frown lessening. "Anyway, the couple times we went out, he was kind of…" I pause, searching for the right term.

"A dick?" Edward offers, and I burst into giggles at his wording and the hopeful expression on his face.

"No!" I laugh. "He was actually more of a mama's boy… Forty-two years old and his mother would clean his house every two weeks and drop off meals she'd prepared. I can forgive the meal thing, but what forty-two year old man can't clean his own house?!"

"I told you he was a dick," Edward says happily. I snort a laugh. He's kind of hilarious. "What were you going to say about him?" he asks, smiling.

"I was going to say, he was kind of… _food aggressive_. You know, like some dogs can be? Growling when you get near their food bowl?" He nods. "If I asked for a little taste of something he'd ordered, he'd look at me like I had two heads, and ask what was wrong with my own meal. Once he even pulled his plate closer to himself and wrapped his arms around it—as if I might leap onto the table in a feeding frenzy."

Edward laughs. "Well, if it makes you feel any better… I dated a woman a couple years ago who was…"

I can't resist. "A _dick?_" And it's so worth it for his look of shock and the infectious, unrestrained laughter that follows.

"She was really more of a prissy princess," he says, finally. "And she was…_food passive-aggressive_."

I laugh because I know he made that up. "What does that even mean, Edward?"

He grins. "It's probably not the right term, but I'd order a meal and she'd just order a small salad, or a soup, or a…a plate of birdseed…" I'm giggling already. "And when our food showed up, she'd always say, 'Gosh, are you going to eat _all_ _that?!_' I felt like a pig before I'd even eaten anything."

"That's terrible! How could she imply that? One look at you and anyone can see that you're…" I hesitate. _In spectacular shape? Remarkably well-built? A human Adonis?_ They're the right terms, but I'll burst into flames if I go there. And then I remember a comment he made at the beach today. "You're obviously _fit_."

"Fit?" He smiles. I'm sure he recalls making the same ridiculous observation about me.

"Yes. You look quite fit, Edward." Time to move on and distract.

"You know, it's too bad we can't introduce our former dates. Just imagine the dinner conversation they could have." I raise my brow and Edward chuckles.

"You mean, _'Gosh, are you going to eat all that?! Yes! And I'm not sharing!'_" he says, rising to the challenge.

"Exactly!" I laugh. And we just sit there grinning at each other. And at our former dates. Those losers.

"Would you care to have a little more halibut or potatoes?" he offers, gesturing to his plate, with amusement in his bright green eyes. So gallant and so unlike Stefan Gruber, of Port Angeles.

"No, thanks. I'm good. Enjoy yourself. And feel free to lick your plate clean, if you so desire. I certainly won't be offended."

He laughs. And he doesn't do that, of course. He only eats a couple more bites and then he's done as well, pushing his plate away, and pouring the remainder of the wine between our two glasses.

We're surprised when we look outside at the darkening sea and sky. There's only the faintest shadow of light now, far off amidst the clouds.

Alec returns to clear our dishes and give us the dessert menu. We order cappuccinos and choose the warm chocolate Bundt cake with vanilla bean ice cream, drizzled with hot fudge. We just get one dessert because it sounds decadent enough for two.

When I look back across the table, Edward's eyes are on me, his gaze soft but intent. "June seems awfully far away," he murmurs. And I smile. He sounds a little wistful.

"Yeah, it does," I reply. And then I think about what that return trip will mean for him and the son he clearly loves so much.

"It's going to be hard, when Masen stays here and you return to Chicago. I mean, with how close you are."

He nods. "Yeah, it will. He's anxious to spread his wings and start his own personal brand of adventure, but I'm sure there will be times he'll be homesick. He'll come over breaks, though."

It _will_ be an exciting time for his son, of course. Still, I wonder how this separation will affect Edward the Worrier. Masen is his life, and there's no concerned spouse, with whom he can share the burden of all the worries.

"What about you?" I ask softly. "I can imagine the distance is going to be even harder on you."

He exhales a little sigh, nodding. "Yeah. It'll be strange not having him around. I'll miss him." He looks up and smiles. "And I'm sure I'll worry about him being on his own, so far away, but I'm probably not the first parent to go through that."

"No, I wouldn't think so." I smile at him. And then a thought occurs.

"You know… Forks is a couple hours from Seattle… but if there's ever anything I can do for Masen…_or_ _you_…I would. Or if he ever comes out to the peninsula and needs a place to stay, I'd take him in."

He blinks. Maybe surprised by my offer. Then his eyes fill with tenderness.

"That's really kind of you," he finally says. "You're a good person, Bella."

He reaches across the table, brushing two long fingers against the side of my hand. When I turn my hand and open it, he clasps it in his. For a moment, he just looks at our joined hands, but then he looks up, his expression serious.

"I don't want to lose contact with you again. I'd like to keep in touch, and know that you're doing okay." He squeezes my hand gently. And then he sighs and frowns slightly. "And I would hope you wouldn't hesitate to call me too, you know, even just to talk."

I brush my thumb against his and give him a soft smile, feeling a little wistful that the situation isn't different. But it's not. And I still value his friendship now that we've found it again.

"I'd like to keep in touch, too, Edward." I can tell by the sparkle in his eyes and the way his lips curl into that crooked smile, that he's pleased with my response.

Alec returns with our cappuccinos and dessert. It looks wonderful. And gooey. And probably prone to dripping as the warm cake melts the ice cream.

Edward moves his chair around to the end of the table, so we're closer and don't have to reach or drip so far. We're seated perpendicular to one another now, knees bumping beneath the table as we huddle over our shared dessert.

"Don't even think you're getting all the hot fudge, Bella," he teases and I laugh.

"Are you accusing me of being hot-fudge-aggressive, Edward?"

He smirks as he tugs the bowl closer to himself, shielding it from my spoon with his hands.

"Are you going to eat _all that_ by yourself?" I ask and he chuckles, pushing the bowl back towards me.

"No. I'll share. The last thing I want is to have you leap onto the table in a feeding frenzy, frightening the other diners." And we're both laughing at the thought.

Outside the window, the sky and sea are dark, the horizon indiscernible. There must be floodlights on the hillside below the restaurant though, because the shore is illuminated, and we can see waves crashing and shorebirds skittering about.

After finishing our dessert, we linger a few minutes longer with our coffees.

Edward rolls his eyes when I offer to pay my share of the bill and I do the same when he won't even allow me to get the tip.

Finally ready to leave, I slip my cardigan on and grab my purse as he shrugs into his jacket. We make our way back to the entrance, where the hostess gushes a thank you to Edward, telling him to come back again soon. He throws a thank you over his shoulder as he throws an arm around my shoulders, and ushers me out the door.

We stop just outside beneath the overhang of the entryway and Edward's arm drops to his side. It has begun raining. Not hard, but more than a sprinkle.

"Wait here," Edward says. "I'll get the truck and pick you up." But I reach for his arm and pull him back.

"No. We can make a run for it." He frowns, looking doubtfully at my cardigan. "Edward, I've lived in the Pacific Northwest for twenty two years. You think I can't hack a little rain? I'm good. Let's go."

"Wait. Hang on." He shrugs out of his jacket. "Luckily, I brought my handy-dandy jacket-brella." I laugh as he drapes it over our heads, and we both grab an edge to hold it in place above us.

He grins down at me as he tucks me into his side with his free arm. "Ready?" he asks.

I smile up at him, wrapping my arm around his waist. "Set…" I confirm.

"Go!" we both shout together, laughing beneath our jacket-brella, as we make a dash out into the parking lot.

*I*

The rain doesn't let up the whole way back to Forks.

Masen texts, letting Edward know the bonfire ended early due to rain, and he's back at the hotel, wondering when Edward will return.

I scoot across the front seat and follow Edward out on the driver's side when we get back to the house. Hunched beneath the cover of his jacket-brella once again, we sprint for the cover of the front porch.

We're breathless and laughing by the time we get there—I nearly tripped up the steps on the way. And though I was mostly protected, droplets of water are sliding from Edward's hair down his smiling face. He wipes them away with his shirtsleeves and shakes the rain from his jacket.

I invite him to come in but he declines, saying he'd better get going, just in case Masen is entertaining any guests in their hotel room. I stifle my giggle. The thought hadn't occurred to me, but as a father, Edward probably remembers what runs through the mind of a seventeen year old boy.

He pulls his jacket on and I guess this is goodbye. For tonight, anyway. Tomorrow is the big goodbye. I wrap my sweater tighter around me.

"You're cold," Edward says, and before I can tell him I'm fine, he steps close, wrapping the sides of his jacket around me, enfolding me in a warm hug. I slide my arms around him, beneath the cover of his jacket. And when I tuck my head into the crook of his neck, I feel the press of his cheek against my temple.

For a few moments, we don't speak, we just hug, our embrace saying it all. Thank yous would be insufficient, and anything more would be foolish.

"When I come back in June," Edward murmurs, "I would like to do these past two days with you all over again. Or something like this." Even though he's phrased it as a statement, I know it's a question. An invitation. And my heart can't help thrilling at the thought.

"I would do this with you again. Or something like it," I reply, smiling though he can't see, but I think he can hear it.

"Shall I pencil you in on my calendar?" His soft words might seem teasing, but his tone is serious. And he wants to know if I am, as well.

I pull my head back to look up at him, and he relaxes his hold, but only slightly. "You can put it on your calendar in pen, Edward. I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes sparkle as he looks down at me in the low light of the porch. "Maybe we can add a few extra days...in Seattle."

I smile at his veiled request and I shrug. "Well…it's been a while since I've seen Seattle..."

He sighs softly and smiles that delicious, crooked smile. And even before his gaze flickers to my mouth and his fingertips slide down to my jaw, I know he's going to kiss me.

His thumb caresses my cheek as he tips my face up to his, and in that moment, when he presses those familiar, firm yet soft lips to mine, I feel certain about three things.

Tonight _was_ a date, and tomorrow will suck, but for the next two months, I won't be the only one contemplating what-ifs and maybes.

* * *

**A/N: I'd love to hear from you. **


	25. Prior to Departure

**Indelible**

**A/N: **I've taken some liberties with some Port Angeles establishments in this chapter. Hopefully it won't affect B &amp; E's fictional day.

* * *

**Chapter 25: Prior to Departure**

I watch from the porch as he darts back out into the rain. Halfway to the truck, he turns, jogging backwards. Does he not realize it's raining?

"Get inside, Bella! It's cold!" he shouts. Smiling that smile.

"Get in the truck, Edward! It's raining!" I call back, shooing him with my hand and laughing.

He grins and turns, resuming his dash to the truck. I open the front door and wave, watching as the truck's headlights flash twice before he pulls away.

I shut and lock the door and wander to the kitchen on autopilot. My mind is elsewhere—examining the last few minutes of surprise and familiarity on the doorstep. The solid strength and warmth of him, the scent of him and his new shirt, the hope and sincerity in his words and his kiss. Everything assuring me of some connection beyond just these past few days.

Realizing I'm just standing in the kitchen while my mind has been back on the front porch, I finally remember to set my purse down on the counter. I also remember I have a dog. Someone needs to let him out to do his nightly business. And I'm the someone. And it's still raining.

Fitz isn't downstairs in the living room or kitchen, so I climb the stairs and find him sprawled out asleep on my bed, with his head on my pillow. He's probably having sweet dreams about running along the beach, chasing birds, and playing with that boy-pup who belongs to the kindly butt-scratcher.

"There had better not be any dog-drool on my pillow, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Fitz lifts his head and blinks innocently at me, telling me he wouldn't dare. He wants to be invited back.

"Who wants to go potty outside?" I ask.

He looks away, listening to the rain on the eaves, hoping I'll take someone else. Then he slowly gets up, stretches, jumps down, and stretches again. Having thought about it, he's decided it's better to go potty outside in the rain, than go potty inside and be Bad Dog.

I grab an old towel from the linen cabinet, to dry and clean him afterwards, and then I follow him down the stairs.

Turning on the porch light, I watch as he ventures down the steps and over to the right, beneath the protection of the trees. I'm about to step back inside when the porch swing catches my eye and calls to me. It hangs far enough back that it's protected from the rain, so I return inside to grab a sweatshirt and blanket, deciding I'll sit for a bit, watching and listening to the rain beneath the space heater. I doubt I'll be falling asleep anytime soon, anyway. I tell myself I'm not going to start with the what-ifs and maybes tonight, but this evening certainly demands more attention and review.

I don't want to delve too deeply into my feelings about Edward. I have to be realistic about this situation. And the time and distance involved. We have a lot of past, but so little present and our opportunities for more will be few and far between. Still, when I think about the time we spent together today and this evening, I know this was by far the best day I've had in a very, very long time.

*I*

By the time I finally do crawl into bed, I'm stuck on one thing. Something he mentioned. I can't help thinking how many things had to fall in place for the paths of our lives to re-converge like this. It's not just that he happened to look online and stumbled onto Dad's obituary. He wouldn't have done that if he weren't coming to Forks this week. And he wouldn't have come to Forks this week if it weren't for his son. Masen had to be college-bound at precisely this point in time and choose the University of Washington, out of all possible schools. And he had to start with summer session, necessitating a trip out west for a tour and a visit with an advisor during this particular point in time.

I don't know whether to think this re-convergence of our lives could so very easily never have happened, or if it's been two decades in the making. Do the events in our lives happen by chance or is it something more?

I reach over and turn off the lamp next to my bed, telling myself to just go to sleep. Contemplating what-ifs and maybes is one thing, but pondering the existence of master plans and grand designs is quite another.

*I*

It's nine o'clock Saturday morning and I'm ready to go. Edward said he'd be over sometime between nine and nine-thirty. We've decided to spend a few hours in Port Angeles before their flight out. It's a little overcast, so I'm dressed comfortably in brown flats, jeans, a dark blue long-sleeved blouse and a tan sweater.

I'm in the kitchen, at the sink, cleaning and drying the shells and beach glass I collected yesterday, and only remembered to dig out of my backpack this morning. My phone chimes with a text alert and when I check it, I see it's from Angela.

_**B? How was it? Yay or nay on the date-debate?**_

I don't want to call her back right now. Edward could arrive any minute, so I just text back.

_**It was really good. And the results are in…**_

_**Optimists: 1 Pessimists: 0**_

_**I'll tell you more, later. **_**:)**

I laugh out loud when I get her response.

_***handsprings and cartwheels***_

And then I text her back.

_**And to think, you're at work. Must be quite a sight. **_**:)**

My phone chimes her reply and I laugh once again, reading it.

_**They think it's the caffeine. **_**:)**

Fitz has been out back, sitting at the top of the porch steps, watching the occasional bird or bug. When he gets up, barking as he runs down the steps and around to the side gate, I figure Edward and Masen must be here. I place the shells and beach glass in a small glass bowl and set it on the kitchen table as a little centerpiece.

Walking into the living room, I can see Masen's black truck parked at the curb, right behind where I've parked Dad's truck. I open the front door, just after Edward rings the bell. He's leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb and he looks good in his bright red T-shirt and blue jeans. He looks good in everything, but I can freely admit my personal favorite was yesterday at the beach, when he wore the least.

"Good morning, you," he says, smiling, though it's a different smile than the past few days. There's something slightly more intimate in his eyes and on those lips that kissed me last night. I feel my face warming at the thought.

"Good morning to _you_," I reply, feeling totally transparent. I blink away my girlish reaction and look past him, realizing he's alone. "Where's Masen?"

"Getting ready. I let him sleep in. I told him we'd be back to pick him up. I had an errand I wanted to run this morning."

"Oh. Well, come on in and I'll get my purse. What kind of an errand?"

"I already went," he says, moving away from the doorjamb. I gape in surprise when his arm comes around from behind him as he steps inside.

"I, uh… I got you these," he says, extending a bouquet toward me and looking a little unsure of himself.

"Flowers?! For me?!" The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement as he smiles. My questions are redundant. He just said they're for me and they're definitely flowers—a gorgeous bouquet of white, yellow, pink and purple freesia, mixed with lavender and ferns.

"Yes, to both questions," he says with a little smirk, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans—as if he doesn't know what else to do with them now that he's handed over the flowers he was hiding.

"Edward, these are beautiful." I look at the bouquet in my hands, bringing it up to my nose, inhaling the lovely fragrance. "Oh, and they smell wonderful," I add. I'm still surprised he brought me flowers, though he's clearly pleased by my reaction.

"I never really acknowledged Charlie's passing properly," he says softly. "Mowing a lawn isn't exactly standard. And I know white flowers are used to express sympathy, but I wanted to convey something a little more…hopeful, too. Something that would remind you I'd be thinking of you and looking forward to seeing you again.

"When I explained the situation a little to the florist, she told me freesia represent 'grace under pressure,' as well as 'friendship, trust, perseverance and high-spiritedness.'" He smiles warmly. "That sounded right to me."

"This was really thoughtful of you, Edward." I return his smile, touched by the explanation of his multi-purpose bouquet and that he wants me to remember he'll be thinking of me. "I love the variety of colors and what the flowers mean. Thank you, for these."

He nods. "I'm glad you like them."

I gesture toward the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of coffee while I put these in some water?"

"No, thanks," he says, following me. "I told Masen we'd stop on the way and grab coffees and a bite to eat for the road. What was the name of Angela's shop?" he asks as I hunt down a vase.

"The Cup and Saucer. You want to stop there?" I find a vase on a high shelf and he reaches up and grabs it before I can ask for help.

"Yeah." He hands me the vase. "Sound good?"

"Sure, that's great. Angela would love to see you." Angela will probably flip right the hell out.

"I'd like to see her." He smiles, leaning against the counter and watching as I fill the vase with water.

Fitz appears at the back porch door, barking and scratching to get inside. He's probably itching for a scratching, now that he's noticed Edward through the screen door.

"Would you please let Fitz inside before he burrows his way in?" I nod toward the door as I begin organizing his flowers in the vase.

He chuckles. "Sure thing." He walks over and opens the door and Fitz comes in, barking and wagging as Edward greets him and bends to scratch. And then Fitz quiets, smiling at the butt-scratcher's pure awesomeness.

"Are all of these from yesterday?" Edward asks after a moment. When I look over my shoulder, I see he's referring to the little glass bowl of shells and beach glass on the table.

"Yeah. I collected more than I realized during the course of the day, but I thought they made a nice little centerpiece. Now they can be a centerpiece-sidekick." I smile as I bring the vase over to the table. Hopefully it doesn't look like I'm building a shrine. At least I haven't put out candles and a photo of Edward in a gilt frame. Not that I have a recent photo of Edward. Or a gilt frame.

I lock up the house while Edward pulls Masen's truck into the garage next to my green Volkswagen Jetta. He says that little sedan looks so out of place. He only ever saw me and Charlie in trucks or a police cruiser, so it's hard to imagine otherwise. I laugh, but he's right. In the past year I've rarely used that car we bought through Jake's work.

"What are you going to do about these?" I ask, looking in Masen's truck bed, where two bicycles are situated, front tires removed to fit.

Edward scratches an ear. "To tell you the truth, I completely forgot about the bikes—well, mine, anyway. Masen can do without his for the next two months—he'll need it here for school. I'll have to ship mine back, but I'll take care of that in June." He smiles at me and shrugs. "Maybe we can all go for a bike ride when we return?"

I laugh and shrug back at him. "Sure. That would be fun. And it's a good way to rationalize keeping your bicycle here for the next two months."

He chuckles as he hands me the truck's keys and I put them in my purse for safe-keeping. Closing the garage, we head to Charlie's blue Tacoma to go pick up Masen.

Edward sits in the passenger seat, his arm stretched out across the seatback as I drive. I can feel the warm presence of his hand behind me and the occasional feathery touch of his thumb on my back. We're quiet. It makes me think of last night, when we just held each other on the porch without speaking—the moment too big for words.

When I pull up behind two cars at a stop sign, I sneak a peek over at him, only to catch him already looking at me. We both smile, caught, and the moment feels a bit awkward. I can feel my face heat, and I wonder if we're both thinking the same thing.

"I enjoyed last night, Bella," he says softly, the look in his eyes confirming my suspicions. I know he's not talking about the food.

"Me too," I tell him sincerely.

The light in his eyes kicks up a notch as he smiles, and it's no longer the brush of his thumb on my shoulder, but the warmth of his hand.

As we head up South Forks Drive in the direction of their hotel, I glance back to him, curious about his return there last evening.

"Did you discover any extra guests in your room, when you got back last night?"

He chuckles, looking back at me with a smirk. "As a matter of fact, I did." My eyes widen.

"Bree was with Masen?!"

"Yep. On his bed. Both of them." I gasp but his mouth just draws into a broader smile.

"Edward! What did you do?! What did you say?!"

He laughs. "Nothing. Her sprained ankle was propped up on a pillow and Masen was sitting cross-legged next to her. The other girls were all there, too. Everyone was fully dressed. They were just hanging out, watching TV, picking at marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate bars. Apparently the rain interrupted the girls' S'Mores-making at the bonfire."

"Oh!" I laugh. "How sad!"

He nods, chuckling. "Yeah, but it's nice to catch your kid behaving. It doesn't always happen that way."

I smile, imagining Masen and his little spring break harem, just being kids.

"Did you kick those poor girls out into the rain?"

He laughs. "No. I let them finish their TV show. And I was treated to a thrilling account of their frantic departure from First Beach while I ate a couple marshmallows."

I smile. It's funny to imagine this adult Edward, just kicking back with a bunch of teenagers. But he seems like an approachable dad, and with him and Masen having a close relationship, I'm guessing this happens in the Cullen household in Chicago.

When we get to the Calawah River Motel, Edward gets out to let Masen know we're here and grab their bags. He's already paid their bill, so it's just a question of clearing out of their room. I pull my phone out of my purse while I wait, sending Angela a quick text.

_**We're coming by for coffee. **_**:)**

I look up to see Edward coming out of their room with his backpack slung over a shoulder, carrying two bags. Masen appears right behind him, swiping his floppy, still-damp hair back off his forehead. He pauses, shoving a foot into a shoe, and then slings his own backpack over his shoulder, following Edward with that same long-legged easy stride.

My phone chimes and smile as I read Angela's response.

_***more **__**handsprings and cartwheels, to the customers' delight***_

I tuck my phone back into my pocket and get out as they near the truck. Greeting Masen, I open the door so Edward can set their bags on the back seat, and then Masen climbs in, shoving the bags across to the other side. Once we're all in place, we take off for The Cup and Saucer, just a couple blocks up the road.

We manage to park right in front of the shop, and Angela comes out to greet us as we're climbing out of the truck.

"Oh, my gosh! Edward Cullen! Oh, my gosh!" She's beaming at him, wiping her hands on her burgundy Cup and Saucer barista's apron before darting in for a hug.

"Hey, Angela! It's really good to see you," Edward chuckles, hugging her in return. She turns to smile at me when I round the truck with Masen, but her mouth drops open, her eyes widening the minute she spots him.

"Oh, my gosh! It's the apple! And the tree!" she exclaims, looking from Masen to Edward, grinning for all she's worth. Edward bursts into laughter, but poor Masen just looks startled and confused. I smile at him and explain.

"She just means you and your dad look…"

"Oh, I get it!" He laughs, nodding. "'_The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.' _Yeah, we do look a lot alike."

"Oh, my gosh! And you even _sound_ like your dad!" Angela gasps, her eyes sparkling.

Edward introduces them, telling Angela that Masen will be starting at U-Dub come summer, and explaining to Masen that Angela went to high school with us.

"Hi, Angela," I finally greet her with a broad grin.

"I'm so glad you stopped by before they had to leave!" She gives me a hug, whispering a quick 'Good Lord!' into my ear, her eyes twinkling at me when she pulls back. I know that's in reference to their appearance.

"Ben is going to be so bummed he missed you!" she says, turning to Edward as she herds us into the shop. "I'll have to get a picture of you before you leave." She shoots me a wink as she ushers them inside. She's sweetly devious. The photo isn't just for Ben. It's mostly to remedy the fact that I didn't take photos at the beach yesterday.

The early morning crowd has thinned. I look around the shop, but don't see anyone Edward would know from high school—although Eric Yorkie's eighteen year old daughter, Amanda, is working the counter. When we step up to order, she does a double take, looking from Edward to his son. It turns out she recognizes Masen from the bonfire last night, having been there herself. I introduce her to Edward, explaining that he went to high school with her parents and Angela and me. Edward asks her to give her mom and dad his regards.

Angela gives Edward the tour of her shop, including the new book nook, and Masen and I tag along. She tells me the nook has already increased her sales, with people lingering to work on laptops and read from the collection we shelved on Tuesday morning. Edward studies the contents of the bookshelves and I know he spots my books when he gives me a quick glance and a little secret smile.

Once our orders are ready, we finish our quick visit and Angela takes a photo of Edward and Masen "for Ben," telling me to get in the shot as well. When she shows us the results, Edward asks if she would text it to him. I ask her to send it to me as well, though my request is more for his benefit than hers, because I know she was already planning on it. And thankfully, Angela needs both hands to input Edward's cell phone number, otherwise I'm sure she'd be doing handsprings and cartwheels, at the subtext of our requests.

"It's too bad Ben didn't get a chance to see you," Angela tells Edward as she walks us out to the truck.

"I'll be back in Forks for a day or two in June, before we head to Seattle," he replies, glancing over and including me in that 'we.' "Maybe we could get together then for dinner? Or go bowling?" He grins as he makes his second suggestion and I snort a laugh, thinking about the four of us bowling when we were teens—Angela and I were laughably dreadful.

"I'll have you know I'm actually decent, now," Angela says with a twinkle in her eyes. "I bowl in a women's league on Monday nights with a few girls from church."

Edward looks surprised. He turns to look at me, cocking an eyebrow in inquiry.

"Don't look at me!" I say, splaying my hands in front of me as I shake my head. "I'm as hopeless as ever." He bursts into laughter.

"Well, that has potential, then," he says, grinning at Angela. "You, Ben and I can still enjoy Bella's finesse with the gutter-balls."

I roll my eyes. "That's not happening. We can do dinner." He just laughs.

Angela tells us goodbye then, wishing Masen a good end of his senior year, and giving Edward another hug. She hugs me goodbye with a quick, quiet, "Optimists: 3, Pessimists: 0" in my ear and I smile. I'm guessing Edward wanting our photo was worth a point, as was his suggestion of a future dinner double-date.

*I*

Though it's an hour's drive to Port Angeles, I suspect the time will go quickly and not just because we have baked goods and coffees to entertain ourselves along the way. Having been presented with a little more living proof of his father's history in Forks—at the same age he is now—Masen is eager for information.

"So you guys were all close friends back in high school?" he asks.

"Well, I didn't really know Angela until the end of my senior year," Edward tells him. "She was kind of shy and quiet and she was a grade below mine—a junior, like Bella. They became friends when Bella moved to Forks and that's how I met Angela. Before that, I just knew who she was because her father was the pastor at the Community Church."

I explain a little further. "Angela was the first girl I met, when I moved to Forks, second semester of my junior year. She _wa_s quiet, like your dad said, but she was nice and had a wonderful, subdued sense of humor. I liked her instantly, and she's been my closest friend ever since. Needless to say, she's not very shy and quiet anymore." I glance in the rearview at Masen. He's smiling. I don't think he found Angela to be shy or reserved.

"And you guys went to school with her husband, too?

"We did," I reply. "Ben was in your dad's class. Angela had such a crush on him. They started dating toward the end of that school year…" I almost say, 'shortly before your dad and I started dating,' but I catch myself, thinking it might be weird. "Anyway, Ben is the pastor at the Community Church here now. Angela's dad is semi-retired."

"Ben was an officer on student council with me, senior year," Edward adds. "He was treasurer and I was president." He side-eyes me and then looks over his shoulder at Masen, smirking. "And…on her first day at Forks High, Bella thought Ben and I were _a couple_."

"WHAT!?" Masen yelps.

"Oh, my god! Edward! I did not!" My face is on fire. I reach over and smack his leg and he jerks it away as he cracks up.

"Don't listen to your dad, Masen. I never said that or thought that," I say, glancing in the mirror. He's grinning like the Cheshire cat, watching his father laugh, and I can tell he smells a good story. I look over at Edward—at that beautiful, unabashed grin, and I can't help but laugh.

"That was Jessica Stanley's doing, and you know it, Edward Anthony Cullen! _She's_ the one who implied everyone was _together_, embarrassing the wits out of me in front of the whole cafeteria!"

"Wait, what happened?! Who's Jessica Stanley?" Masen asks eagerly.

"The school gossip," Edward says.

"The town gossip," I say at the same time. We share a glance and snicker.

"I guess some things never change," Edward says, shaking his head, while I nod in agreement.

"So, what's the story, Bella? What happened?" Masen asks, still keen on hearing the details.

So I explain. And he's embarrassed for me. But he gets a good long laugh out of his father's and my initial meeting, knowing we later dated. Then I tell him my day went to hell in a handbasket, when his dad walked into my Biology class that same afternoon and turned out to be my new lab partner. That brings on the guffaws. He thinks that's absolutely priceless. Then I tell him Edward glared at me like he wanted to murder me, and practically sat in the aisle to get away from me.

"That wasn't the case at all!" Edward laughs. Stretching his arm along the seatback, he rubs my shoulder reassuringly, and I blush, wondering what Masen thinks. "I really wasn't mad at Bella," Edward says, glancing back at his son. "I was just so angry about my situation with baseball that day, I couldn't even think straight. My schedule had gotten all messed up, so I couldn't fit team sports into sixth period. It looked like I wasn't going to get to play ball my senior year."

"But you _did_ get to play...thanks to Bella," Masen says, already familiar with this part of his father's history. "So it's a good thing you didn't kill her that first day in Biology. Not to mention it would have made the rest of that class period really awkward for everyone." I giggle at his observation.

"Yep." Edward chuckles, throwing a crooked little smirk my way as he gives my shoulder another little squeeze.

"So, how did you know the Mariner's pitcher who coached Dad, Bella?" Masen asks.

"Oh, I didn't, but my step-dad did…"

And with that, we're off on more stories from our combined past: Phil hooking Edward up with former pitcher Jay Jenks, trips to Aberdeen for pitching practice, the baseball league championship game, and even a trip to Jacksonville we took a year later, to spend spring break with Mom and Phil.

*I*

We get to Port Angeles a little past eleven thirty—about three and a half hours before Edward and Masen have to be at the airport. I point out the Peninsula Daily News building, where I used to work, and then I park down near the City Pier.

We walk through the park and out onto the pier—out to the tower at the end. Masen groans as we climb all the steps up to the observation platform—his legs are indeed sore from yesterday. From up top, we look back at the waterfront and Port Angeles sprawled up the hillside. A few ships lay anchored in the harbor, and we watch boats sailing in and out and beyond Ediz Hook, through the Strait of Juan de Fuca, with Canada's Vancouver Island in the background.

Masen asks about traveling to Canada and Edward rolls his eyes.

"Just stick with exploring the State of Washington for a while, before you go all international on me, Mase. Break me in slowly, okay?"

Masen and I laugh and exchange a look. "Dad's such a worrier," he says. Like I don't know that.

"Yeah, I don't think that's going to change anytime soon, Masen. I told your dad you could contact me in the event of an emergency when you're out here, or if you come out to the peninsula and need a place to stay, but I'm not sure about picking you up in Canada if you have car problems."

He laughs. "Okay. There's probably enough in Washington to keep me busy for a while, anyway."

We walk around downtown then, checking out the shops along Front Street. The hiking display in the window at Brown's Outdoor Gear catches Masen's eye and he wants to head inside to investigate. I tell Edward to go ahead—I'll look around in Odyssey Books next door, and we'll find each other when we're done.

I'm really not in the market for a new book. I have a few to wade through already. But a thought occurs to me as I step inside and I suddenly know what I'm here to buy.

At the counter a short while later, I glance furtively at the shop door as I write something brief inside the covers of two of the three books I've chosen. The cashier looks confused when I request two bags, but I tell her two of the books are gifts for friends I'll be taking to the airport shortly. The third book is for me, however, and I just tuck that into my oversized purse.

Just as I leave, Edward and Masen emerge from the sporting goods shop next door. Masen has a bag and he looks happy about it.

"What'd you get?" I ask.

"Dad bought me new hiking boots. My old ones are in pretty bad shape and these were on sale."

"Very cool." He grins.

"What did you buy?" Edward asks.

"A couple books. I'll show you at lunch."

Retracing our steps, we head up Lincoln Street to First Street, past the old movie theater where Edward and I used to go. Jake and I too, now that I think about it.

We stop into Northwest Gifts and Collectibles. Masen bought Grandpa Carlisle a U-Dub polo shirt, but he has yet to find something for Grandma Esme. When he asks my opinion on a pillar candle with flowers embedded in the wax, I tell him I think it's perfect. It has a lovely scent and the tag states it's handmade by a local artisan, using natural materials, including local wildflowers.

Up near the cashier's counter, Masen stops to look at a display of handmade dreamcatchers. He thinks they're a cool concept, and given the approaching turning point in his life, he picks one out for himself, using up the remainder of his spending money.

It's a after one-thirty as we continue along First Street, arriving in front of Bella Italia.

"Do you want to have lunch here?" I ask Edward.

"Was there ever any question where we'd eat?" he asks, smiling that crooked smile.

I smile and shrug. "No, I guess not. But I'm buying lunch or we're not eating here."

"Please let Bella buy, Dad," Masen begs, inhaling the delicious aroma emanating from the restaurant.

"All right. I can see I'm outnumbered," Edward chuckles, herding us to the door and following us inside.

A young man seats us at a booth, and when I slide in on one side, Masen slides in across from me. He doesn't scoot down though. Instead he places his bags and sweatshirt on the seat next to him and immediately begins looking over the menu on the table. Which leaves Edward to scoot in on my side, with a crooked smile and a roll of his eyes just for me. Once the waiter leaves with our drink orders, Edward looks across the table at his Wingboy.

"Got enough room, Mase?" he asks, and I almost laugh out loud at Masen's guilty expression of innocence when he looks up at his father.

"Yeah. I'm good." He must realize his dad is onto him, because his lips twitch and I think he's biting back a grin as he quickly looks back down.

"So, what's good here?" he asks, studiously perusing the menu.

"Everything," Edward and I reply together. Mirth-filled blue eyes shoot up at us, and Masen just shakes his head.

*I*

After our sodas arrive, we place our order for a large house salad with a creamy parmesan dressing, a Sicilian pizza, and an order of the mushroom ravioli. I can't come to Bella Italia and not get the ravioli. Our plan is to split everything, though, and I'm happy to learn Masen likes the smorgasbord arrangement as much as Edward and I do.

Once the waiter leaves, I reach for the bags next to me.

"I got you both a souvenir of your trip to Forks...and I guess Port Angeles, too," I tell them as I hand them the appropriate bags and they look at me in surprise.

Edward frowns. "Bella, you didn't have to…"

"But I wanted to," I tell him firmly, before he can finish. I turn my eyes to Masen as he removes his book from his bag.

"Oh, wow…" he exclaims, "_Hiking Washington: Day Hikes and Easy Overnights_." He shows his dad the cover and Edward smiles at him and then me.

"This is awesome, Bella," Masen says, flipping through it, but pausing when he sees I wrote an inscription. He smiles as he reads it to himself, and then reads it aloud for Edward. "_Happy trails to you, Masen. Good luck in school and wherever life leads you. (Just not to Canada for a while.) __ –Bella._" He looks up and grins. "Thanks, Bella. This will go really well with my new boots."

I laugh at his comment. "You're very welcome."

It's now Edward's turn and I start chewing at my lip as he reaches into his bag. I'm a little unsure of my gift to him, but his mouth curves into a smile when he sees the cover and realization hits.

"A journal," he murmurs as his fingertips smooth over the dark brown embossed leather cover.

I nod. "Yeah. I, um… I didn't know if you still…"

"I will _definitely_ use this," he says, nodding and smiling at me before looking back down at the book in his hands. "Bella, this is beautiful."

I smile, feeling more certain of my gift, given his reaction to it. "I'm glad you like it."

He holds the journal up for his son to see the cover. "Look familiar?" he asks.

Masen's eyes widen and he smiles. "That looks kind of like the beach we went to yesterday."

"That's what I thought," I tell them, looking at the embossed image of an ocean at sunset, with a few pines on a craggy cliff. It's not Second Beach, but it's definitely reminiscent of the Olympic Peninsula.

"Did she write something inside?" Masen asks and I can feel myself blush. Because I did.

Edward eyes me and then looks inside the cover, silently reading what I wrote.

"Yes, she did," he finally says, looking up at his son with a smirk. But he closes the journal and places it back into its bag without another word. I snort a soft laugh at him, torturing his son like that. I wonder how long it will be before Masen sneaks a peek. What I wrote to Edward wasn't overly personal, but certainly more so than what I wrote to Masen.

The waiter returns with our salad then, and Edward hands me his bag to put on the other side of me, by my purse. When I turn back, his hand reaches for mine beneath the table.

"Thank you," he murmurs softly as his fingers curl around mine. "Me too," he adds, and I know he's referring to the lines I wrote inside. I smile, feeling his thumb stroking over my knuckles and I turn my hand to clasp his.

When the waiter leaves, we divvy up the salad and dig in, though I find I'm not terribly hungry. I know I'll have to drop them off at the airport in an hour and for that reason, my appetite seems to be waning.

As we finish our salad, the rest of our lunch arrives. I apologize to Masen that the Sicilian pizza isn't a Chicago-style pizza, but he grins and says it won't be a problem—he's never met a pizza he didn't like. He says the mushroom ravioli looks like it has real potential, too, and I assure him it never disappoints.

While we eat, I ask Masen if he had a good time last evening, and it turns out to be a good distraction. He's chatty, maybe sensing that Edward and I are not. He entertains us with the rundown from dinner at the diner, to untoasted and unsatisfying S'mores in their motel room. I know Edward has probably heard most of this, because he seems to be paying more attention to me and my reactions than to his son's words.

When we've finally finished eating, I pay our bill and they both thank me for lunch.

And that means it's time.

Our walk back to the truck is a quiet one. Masen is oblivious, or maybe he's not, walking ahead of us to give us a little space. Edward's free hand brushes against mine twice, before he loosely links a couple of our fingers together. When I look up, he smiles, though he exhales a sigh that says enough for both of us.

It's a short, quiet drive to the airport, and Edward's hand never leaves my shoulder. Masen busies himself in the backseat, packing his new boots, gifts, and souvenirs into his duffle bag and backpack.

When I pull up to the passenger drop off, I park and we all get out. Masen and Edward grab their bags from the backseat and it's time to say our goodbyes.

"Masen, it was a real pleasure meeting you." I smile at Edward's young quasi-doppelganger.

"You, too, Bella. I had a good time. Thanks again for the book. And for lunch." I'm a little surprised when he ducks in for a brief, awkward hug, but I'm glad to return one.

"Take care of yourself. And your dad," I tell him when we move apart. I glance at Edward, smiling softly at the both of us.

Masen grins. "I will. You take care, too. And say goodbye to Fitz for me."

I smile. "I'll do that."

He looks at Edward then. "I'll just, uh…" He pauses and then nods toward the terminal entrance. "I'll go on in…and…check on our departure gate. I'll wait for you inside, okay? I've got my phone on in case you get lost," he adds with a little grin as he slings his backpack over a shoulder.

Edward chuckles at his Wingboy. "Okay, I'll be right there. Don't board any planes without me." Masen laughs as he picks up his bag.

"Bye, Bella," he says. I give him a little wave as he heads to the terminal.

"So, I guess this is it," I say, looking up at Edward, my hands fidgeting together.

"Just for now," he says, reaching for my hands. I nod in agreement as he pulls me into an embrace, like he did last night, wrapping his arms around me as my arms encircle him. And just like last night, this hug is a silent, simple communication. We refuse to let go of our past and we're grasping at this all-too-fleeting present, hoping to hang onto it somehow.

He pulls back after a moment to look down at me. "Bella, what you wrote in my journal… I'm so glad I took a chance on seeing you, too. And I'm thankful you _let_ me see you." He pauses, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear and then smiles as he skims his knuckles along my jaw. "I never could have imagined the past couple days, but I agree—there weren't enough of them. I'll be thinking of you, and I'm hopeful for more, too."

I smile as I slide my hands up his back a little, memorizing the feel of him. "I'll miss you, Edward," I tell him softly, breathing in the scent of him while I still have the chance.

"I'll miss you, Bella," he murmurs, tucking me in close, tightening his hold on me—if only for the moment.

"Let me know you guys got back to Chicago okay, okay?" I ask.

He looks down with a smile. "It'll be late," he warns.

I just shrug. "I'd rather know."

"Okay," he says, the light in his eyes soft as his lips curve into that crooked little smile. He reaches up then, cupping my face in his hand. His eyes search mine for a moment, and then he tips his head down and kisses me. I reach up to touch his cheek. It's been so long since I've touched this beautiful face.

"I'll call you, Bella," he says, his voice husky as he presses his forehead to mine. I nod.

"Often—I mean. Not just tonight," he clarifies.

"Okay," I smile. "We'll keep in touch."

"Take care of yourself, Bella."

"You, too, Edward. I'll see you in June."

He kisses my forehead and we let each other go. He waits there as I round the truck and climb in. He waves as I drive away, and I watch him there, watching me leave, and I wonder where we'll be in two months' time.

*I*

Stopped at a light just before I get onto the 101 South to Forks, I reach into my purse on the seat next to me and pull out my own personal purchase from Odyssey Books. The embossed leather cover is identical to Edward's, though my journal is a deep green—like the spiral notebook I wrote in years ago, back when we first met. So much has happened in the last few days and I don't want to forget any of it, but I'm hopeful the days to come will be worth writing about as well.

* * *

**A/N: ****I hope you found something to love. ****Shoot me a review and I'll send you Bella's inscription in Edward's journal. (Just don't tell Masen!)**


	26. Through a Son's Eyes

**Indelible**

**A/N: **This is different. I hope you like it.

* * *

**Chapter 26: Through a Son's Eyes**

A couple weeks ago, Grandma was trying to convince me I should go to prom, and wanted to show me "how handsome" Dad looked in his old prom photos. Everyone always says I look a lot like my dad. We always have. Even when I was younger, I looked a lot like he did as a boy. So I fully expected to see our resemblance in those prom photos. What I didn't expect, was the way I felt looking at them.

I'd seen plenty of pictures of Dad with his friends growing up, but I'd never seen photos of him with a girl. He never mentioned any old girlfriends. He'd only ever said that he hadn't dated many girls before Mom, and left it at that.

Up until that moment, I think I'd always looked at photos of Dad's childhood and youth with equal parts amusement and curiosity. But seeing him in those prom photos, I knew he was right where I am now—seventeen, just shy of eighteen, finishing high school, and heading for college in a few short months. It made that young version of him more real to me.

He looked nice, just like Grandma had said. Handsome, I guess. But seeing him, all dressed up in that tux, made me think. Unless you're in some profession or social circle that includes formal events, there are really only two occasions you wear a tux: to your prom and your wedding.

Within five years of the time those pictures had been taken, Dad had done both. And he'd become a father.

I couldn't imagine that for myself, five years from now. I doubted that boy in the photos had imagined it either. Or the girl standing with him.

That was the first time I'd ever heard of Bella Swan.

*I*

_She's small, barely reaching to Dad's chin, and the photo is clear enough that I can see she's pretty in a very natural way. Her skin is pale against her dark blue dress and long brown hair, but her cheeks are tinged pink, like she's shy or embarrassed and it makes her seem sweet and innocent. Her big, dark brown eyes are sparkling, though, and I can tell she's really happy to be standing there next to Dad._

_His arm is wrapped around her in both photos, and he looks proud as he tucks her into his side. They're both smiling for the camera's lens in the first photo. In the second one, though, they're looking at each other, their smiles just for each other, and I can clearly see how important she is to him._

"_Who's the girl, Grandma?" I ask, not taking my eyes off that second photo._

"_Her name was Bella Swan. She was your father's first real girlfriend—the first one who really mattered. She was from Forks, but she was new in school that year. Her parents had divorced when she was little and she moved away with her mother, but halfway through your father's senior year Bella moved back to live with her father. He was the Chief of Police in Forks." _

"_Did she and Dad date for very long?"_

"_About two years. I think prom was only their second or third date. Grandpa didn't want your dad getting involved with a girl, since he'd be graduating and leaving for college so soon. He wanted him to keep his focus on school. Your dad stuck to Grandpa's rules for a while…until it got too hard for him to stay away from her." She looks over the top of her reading glasses and gives me a smile and a conspiratorial wink. I grin. But looking back at the photo, I'm only more curious._

"_What was she like?"_

_She looks down at the album, spread across our laps. "She was a very sweet girl. A little on the shy side, but I think your dad really liked that about her. I think it made him feel protective of her." _

"_Do you know what happened? Why they broke up?"_

_She gives me a look, smiling because I'm nosey. She's already told me a lot, but this is like discovering buried treasure. _

"_Come on, Grandma, tell me. I won't say anything. What happened between them?"_

_She shakes her head at me, and then exhales a little sigh as she looks back at the photo. _

"_Your dad wouldn't talk about it for a long, long time, but I guess he broke things off with her when we made the move to Chicago. He knew it would be doubtful they'd get to see each other, so he thought it was for the best. He really missed her though, and I think he came to regret what he'd done. I'm sure it really hurt her, too. I don't know why he didn't just let things run their course." _

_She looks at me over the top of her readers again and smiles fondly at me. "But…life goes on, things change, people's lives change. Two years later, he met your mother and then they had you. And you're everything to your father, Masey. He wouldn't trade you for the world."_

_I smile. I know. Dad has been telling me that for years. Still, I feel kind of bad for that high school couple. They look happy in those photos._

"Now, y_ou'd better not rat me out and get me into trouble with your father," she cautions me, and I laugh._

"_You could always bribe my silence with a slice of chocolate cake, Grandma."_

_She laughs as she closes the album. "All right. If that's what it takes." She reaches out and ruffles my hair. "Go tell Grandpa it's time for dessert, Masey." _

*I*

In the two weeks that followed, I didn't mention those photos or that conversation. And when Dad decided to attend a funeral in Forks during the week we'd be in Washington, I had no idea it was for that girl's father. I didn't even think about her again until our second morning in Forks, when we stopped to pick up breakfast on our way to Seattle.

That was the first time I saw Bella Swan.

Dad was on his phone, so I'd gone into the coffee shop alone to pick up coffees and food. Coming back out of the shop, juggling two big cups and a bag of baked goods, I was about to drop everything I was carrying when someone got the door for me. Looking up, I saw a familiar face, though it took a moment to place it. Suddenly, I knew I was looking at the adult version of the girl in the prom photos. She seemed as startled to see me as I was to see her. But then I realized—she probably thought I resembled Dad.

Walking back out to the truck, I wondered if he knew she still lived in Forks. Or if that even mattered. But it seemed weird to bring up, so I kept that odd little encounter to myself.

Back in Forks that night, after spending the day in Seattle, Dad reminded me about the funeral the following morning. When I asked whose it was, he just said it was for the father of someone he'd known in school. Someone Grandma and Grandpa had known too.

He looked somber the next morning in his black suit and tie. He was quiet and preoccupied, but I figured he was thinking about the funeral. But that afternoon, when I got a flat and he came to pick me up, he was downright broody and obviously distracted. I know a funeral is a sad occasion, but the emotion rolling off of him seemed kind of extreme.

*I*

"_Dad, I'm really sorry..." I tell him as we load the bike into the truck bed. "I could have just patched this myself, you know, if you wanted to stay a little longer." _

"_No. It's fine. It's over." His expression seems pained._

"_Were you still at the church when I called?"_

_He shakes his head. "No. I went to the burial after the service. And then I went over to… I went to… the family's house. But we… We were already finished when you called. There was nothing more to say." He rakes his hand through his hair and sighs. I nod, though he's not looking at me, he's scowling at the ground, and I wonder why he seems so upset. _

"_Ready?" I ask, because he's just standing there, frowning, lost in his own thoughts, and the bike is already loaded and I've even closed the tailgate._

_He looks up and blinks. "Huh? Oh. Yeah." He nods and gets into the truck without another word._

_On the drive back he's quiet. And when we stop at a light, I look over at him. His elbow is resting on the window frame and his eyes are closed as he pinches the bridge of his nose. I feel like I should say something. This funeral was for someone he hasn't seen in twenty years, so I wonder why it's affecting him like this._

"_So, uh, how was it?" I finally dare to ask._

"_Oh, you know…" He shrugs as he turns to look at me. "Depressing." He makes a little stab at a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He doesn't elaborate and I just nod._

"_Did you see anyone you knew?" I figure he must have, and maybe my question will distract him from whatever is bothering him. _

"_Yeah." He nods. "I think most of Forks and half the Olympic Peninsula were there." That gets my attention._

"_Who was this guy? You know…the man who died?"_

"_Charlie Swan. He used to be the Chief of Police here and I used to…" He hesitates. "His daughter and I… We used to be close…" He sighs. "But…that was a long time ago."_

_My mouth drops open. I'm stunned. I know exactly who he's talking about. _

"_Did you talk to her?" _

_I can see the muscles working in his jaw, and he shakes his head slightly at some inner thought before answering me._

"_For a while." _

_The way he says it, I get the feeling that talk didn't go well. And given what Grandma told me about their break-up, I wonder if his black mood has more to do with that conversation, than the funeral or the death of her father. _

*I*

I wasn't too surprised that evening, when Dad said he'd like to stick around Forks another day. He explained that he wanted to do some yardwork for Chief Swan's daughter the next morning, since she was all alone and had enough to deal with already. He said he used to mow their lawn sometimes and knew how the Chief liked it done. I thought doing yardwork sounded kind of odd, but I didn't question it. I knew it must have been important to him.

And maybe she was still kind of important, too.

*I*

I was still asleep when Dad left for her house the next morning, but there was a note to call him when I got up. So I did. And he sounded like himself again, over the phone. I heard a smile in his voice so I knew he was in a good mood. I knew something had changed even before he told me we'd been invited to dinner that evening. And it was only more apparent when we were getting cleaned up and ready to go, late that afternoon.

*I*

_I get out of the shower, wrapped in one towel and drying my hair with another. Dad is standing at the sink just outside the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror._

"_You think I should ditch the beard?" he asks uncertainly, turning his head and looking at his beard from different angles._

_I shrug as I dry my back with the towel in my hands. "I don't know. You look younger without it."_

_His eyes shoot to mine in the mirror. "I do?"_

"_Yeah, kind of. And you look less dour without it." _

_He blinks. "Dour? I look…dour?" He frowns at me._

"_Yeah… Isn't that the right word? Sort of gloomy, broody, overly serious?"_

_He nods, frowning at himself now, in the mirror. _

"_How come you never told me that before?" he asks._

_I shrug. "I don't know. You never asked."_

_And with that, he takes his razor and shaving cream out of his toiletry kit._

_I walk away to get dressed before he catches me smiling._

_Later, when he's done shaving and showering and he's getting dressed, I tell him he looks more buff in his black polo shirt than the gray one. He just rolls his eyes at me. But he goes with the black._

*I*

Dad is what women would call _an eligible bachelor_. They find him appealing for a lot of reasons. He's smart and successful, has a good job, he keeps in shape, and he's good-looking. For his age. I would never call my dad _hot_, but I've heard it from friends. The _girl_ friends. They think he's hot for a dad. That's a little creepy, but I think it's because he's younger than everyone else's dad. He's not even forty, but most of their dads are a good ten years older.

He didn't get involved with anyone for a long time after he and Mom divorced. I'm sure he was hurt things didn't work out and she left, and I'm sure he was cautious about taking a chance on a relationship after that.

I was too young to really understand what was going on when they split up, but I remember being sad. But I also remember worrying Dad could leave me too, and that thought used to upset me even more. Looking back on it now, I know he spent most of his spare time with me—focusing on me, making sure I was happy, and knew he loved me, and didn't think it was my fault Mom left. Or that he would ever do the same.

I remember when I figured out the timeline didn't add up—that I had either been an early arrival or an unplanned one. He was honest with me when I asked him about it. He told me babies aren't always cooperative about sticking to their parents' schedule, explaining that I might have been _unplanned_, but I certainly wasn't _unwanted_. He's proven that to me all my life.

But Dad really has never dated very much, and when he does, it's usually not for very long. He must be really picky, because it's not like he doesn't have opportunities. Some of my friends' moms think he's prime husband material. They're always asking, "So what's your dad up to these days, Masen? Is he seeing anyone?"

I just roll my eyes.

The married moms try to set him up—like Alec Demetri's mom. She's the worst culprit. First it was her sister, then her best friend, followed by a cousin, a co-worker, and finally, a neighbor. I can't blame Dad for not wanting to do anything social with the Demetris anymore, because he can always depend upon Renata Demetri to dig up some woman to introduce to him. I've seen it happen at two barbecues and a New Year's Eve party. He's polite. He smiles. He'll even laugh. But you can see he's onto Renata Demetri's match-making schemes, and once he starts rolling his eyes at me, I know he's had enough and he's waiting for the chance to leave.

The single moms we know are like moths to a flame. Jane Afton—the baseball team's booster mom is the perfect example. She's all over Dad at our games and team parties. For about five minutes, I thought it would be kind of cool if she and Dad hooked up and got married, because her son, Marcus, is a good friend and he's an only-child, like me. But Jane would drive us nuts. She's a great team booster mom, always cheering us on, and she's organized and on top of things, but she's loud and gregarious and kind of pushy. That's fine for a team booster mom, because she gets the job done, but I don't think she knows how to just calm down and relax. I don't know how Marcus can take her sometimes. Dad and I would lose our minds.

It's not just the single moms. I think Miss Harrison, my Honors British Lit teacher, has a thing for him too. As soon as Dad showed up to Back to School Night this year, she started calling home regularly to give him updates on my progress. Even though I'm in the top of my class. I thought maybe she had decided to start doing that for all her students. But then I asked around.

The last woman Dad dated for any length of time was Irina Dunn, maybe a year and a half ago. She was smart and pretty, but she was overly concerned about her appearance: rail thin and always perfectly groomed and made-up. Not a single hair out of place. But she hated doing stuff outdoors. She didn't like the wind. I mean… Hello? You live in Chicago. _The_ Windy City. Get over yourself and your hair. She didn't really have much of a sense of humor either. Maybe if she would have eaten a little more, and gotten some fresh air and sunshine once in a while, she would have been more fun to be around. Whatever. It didn't last that long. She wasn't right for Dad.

It got to the point where I didn't think the right woman for Dad existed. Until Thursday evening in Forks.

That was the night I met Bella Swan.

*I*

On the drive over to her house, Dad told me a little about his "friend," Bella, and her late father, Charlie. He never actually referred to Bella as his former girlfriend. Maybe he didn't want me reading anything into the situation. So I didn't let on that I knew. I figured he had his reasons.

When we got to her house, I felt like I was about to enter the Natural History Exhibit at the Museum of Dad. Walking up to her front door, I was thinking about how many times he must have made that same walk, going over to see her, picking her up to take her out, or bringing her home afterwards. Maybe he'd kissed her goodnight right there on that same front porch where we were standing.

When he rang that doorbell, I felt like I was in the sort of situation where people might say, _'I wish I could have been a fly on the wall…'_ only I was about to_ be_ the fly on the wall.

She was dressed casually but she looked nice. And for an older woman, she's in great shape and she's still very pretty, with kind and expressive eyes. She smiled at Dad, but did a double-take, and I wondered if she thought he looked younger and less dour without the beard. When he introduced me, she gave me a warm smile, but I could see a flicker of curiosity in her eyes and I wondered if she recognized me from the coffee shop.

I met her dog next and almost laughed out loud. Who names their dog _Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy_? A girl who'd liked _Pride and Prejudice_, I guess. But _Fitz_ suits him. He's hilarious and kind of funny-looking. I swear he has a bunch of different facial expressions, but maybe it's just because of the way Bella talks about him—like she can read his thoughts. He's a cool, big dog, though. Way more pleasant and entertaining than Penny the Piranha—the yappy, snappy little Pomeranian bitch Mom has in New York.

I expected to feel a little awkward, being there with Dad and Bella, knowing they used to be together, and watching them interact. But it wasn't awkward at all. I felt at ease and included in the conversation, and they were normal together. That's pretty amazing when you consider they haven't seen or talked to each other in so many years.

Bella was easy-going and friendly, and she seemed interested in what I had to say. It wasn't like she felt obligated to _take an interest_ in me. She had a good sense of humor and a nice laugh and I think she found it comical how Dad and I would tease each other and give each other a hard time. Maybe it was good for her to laugh too—I can't imagine losing my dad.

The house smelled like heaven and I was salivating at the aroma before we even sat down to eat. Dinner was insane—the lasagna, salad, and garlic bread. Everything was terrific and everything was going great, right up until I let it slip that I recognized Bella the other morning. I had to throw Grandma under the bus and tell them about those prom photos. That was awkward, but afterwards, we were done dancing around the elephant in the room. And I don't think Dad really cared that I'd brought it up. I hoped Bella didn't feel too awkward, though I did see her blush.

It must have been strange for them—already knowing each other, yet having to catch up and fill in the gaps. But they seemed to be having a good time, laughing and exchanging looks as we talked about all sorts of things. Dad didn't give me the time-to-leave-eyeroll once. And when Bella went into the kitchen to make dessert during the ballgame, I found out just how un-ready Dad was to leave.

*I*

"_You okay with this? Just hanging out here?" he asks me quietly._

"_Yeah, this is fine. She's nice." He smiles. and then he chews at his lip a little._

"_Listen, Mase… I was thinking… What would you say to staying in Forks another day or two and then flying back home?" _

_My mouth drops open. I wasn't expecting that. _

"_You wouldn't have the truck—you'd be depending upon friends or public transit again, when I can't loan you my car. But it would mean a five hour flight instead of a three-day drive. Just…think about it and let me know, okay?" _

_I nod, still surprised. And then I'm not. I can see he's enjoying getting to know her again, and he just wants a little more time. _

_Before I can reply, though, Bella comes out of the kitchen with her gelato spumoni dessert creation, and hands us our bowls. I watch Dad—the way he looks at her—and I know I'd be a jackass to tell him no, with everything he always does for me. So when she heads back into the kitchen, I'm already done thinking about leaving my truck here and flying home, so I let him know._

"_I can deal with that, Dad. That's fine." He looks surprised, but really pleased._

_"You sure?" he asks._

_"Yeah. That's okay."_

"_Would you mind if I skipped the end of the baseball game to visit with Bella a little?" he asks._

"_No, I'm good. Fitz can keep me company. Your Mariners are going to lose the game, anyway." I smirk at him and he chuckles._

"_Thanks, Mase." He claps me on the shoulder as he stands, dessert in hand. _

_In the kitchen I hear them talking about sitting out on the back porch. And when he comes back out to grab their sweatshirts, Bella looks out from the kitchen doorway. I watch her as I eat my ice cream, wondering what she thinks about him, after all these years, but things must be okay, if Dad is wanting to stick around._

_When I hear the back screen door shut a couple minutes later, I'm tempted to tease Dad and yell, "The door stays open!" like he quietly reminds me when I have a girl over at the house. But I don't. I don't want to embarrass Bella, even though she seems like a good sport. I also don't want to look like an immature idiot._

*I*

I didn't think to give them fair warning later, when I stepped out back, to see if they wanted to catch the end of the game. Maybe I should have whistled, like Dad does, to let me know he's on the approach, so I can get my act together if I have a girl over. But I wasn't thinking. So that was awkward—like I'd caught them making-out, even though I could see they'd just been talking. But they had been sitting close together. And the way they moved apart and Bella jumped up from that porch swing—clearly blushing—I couldn't help grinning. They both looked so guilty. It was like the adolescent shoe was on the parental foot.

Dad was flustered that I'd interrupted, but probably conscious of how it seemed—like the tables had been turned on our usual roles. I wondered if he'd told her we were thinking of staying, or if they'd made plans, but when I asked, he looked a little peeved, and told me he hadn't gotten the chance because they were busy. I knew what he meant, but I was still tempted to comment on them being _busy._ But then I got the glare and the eye roll. So I went back inside.

But I could still hear.

I heard enough to know Dad needed help. When he asked if she had plans the next day, and she wondered what he had in mind to do, he was clueless. I was rolling my eyes in the kitchen. So I suggested the beach. Out loud. From in the kitchen. It was out of my mouth before I even thought about what I was doing. And I heard Dad curse. He sounded pissed I'd butted in yet again, but then I heard Bella start laughing, and then he was laughing with her.

When they came inside a few minutes later, it seemed I'd been forgiven for eavesdropping. At least Bella has a good sense of humor and can roll with our flow.

*I*

_I look over at Dad as he drives us back to the motel. He's been quiet, but I can see he's happy. We've got plans in place to spend the next day at the beach—and it's even going to be warm enough to wear a bathing suit. He has to see the potential in that, I figure. Maybe that's why he's happy._

"_So… Bella Swan, huh?" I say, drumming my fingertips on the window frame._

_Dad looks over, his eyes narrowed, but he starts chuckling. "What, exactly did your Grandmother tell you?" he asks._

_I laugh. The cat's already out of the bag, so we might as well chase it around a little._

"_She really didn't tell me that much. Just Bella's name, a little about her parents—that they were divorced, and Bella's dad was the chief of police. She said you met her in high school and she was your girlfriend for a couple years before the move to Chicago. That's about it. Oh, and she said Bella was very nice." _

_He's shaking his head, looking forward as he drives. "So you knew. This whole time."_

_I chuckle. "I pieced things together. Like I said, I recognized her at the coffee shop the day before yesterday. And yesterday, when you said the funeral was for the former police chief, I remembered that was her dad. So I knew she was the daughter you stuck around to talk to after the funeral. And whose yard you went to mow this morning. And who invited us to dinner tonight."_

_He's chuckling now. "I can't believe you never said a word. I should have wondered why you weren't asking me more questions." He looks over at me and I laugh. I can freely admit to being nosy._

"_I figured you had your reasons for not saying more, and I didn't want to pry into something that was obviously personal." He nods at that, probably glad to know I can respect some boundaries._

"_And what did _you_ decide about my former girlfriend?" he asks and it's clear he knows I've been analyzing the evening. I feel a little embarrassed for myself, but then I think maybe he _is_ curious to know what I thought of Bella. _

"_I think she's very nice. Friendly and down to earth. She was easy to talk to and she has a good sense of humor. She was funny too—like some of those things she said about Fitz?" Dad smiles. "She's an awesome cook, too. That was seriously the best lasagna I've ever eaten." He nods in agreement. "And she's pretty. You know…for a woman her age."_

_He laughs at that, but then he looks at me with narrowed eyes. "You know enough not to say that to a woman's face, right?" I bust up._

"_Yeah, don't worry. You haven't raised a total idiot. I just didn't want you thinking I might start vying for her attention." I grin at him and now he's cracking up, shaking his head at the crap I say._

"_So, how about you?" I ask. "What do you think of her, now that you've gotten to see her again?" He gives me the old raised eyebrow. We can all agree I'm nosy. _

"_I pretty much share your opinions, Mase." _

_He leaves it at that but I'm not done digging. Boundaries shmoundaries_

"_Do you like her?" I ask._

_He doesn't answer immediately. The question hangs in the air. And maybe I really overstepped. _

_But then he looks at me and shrugs. _"_I've always liked Bella." _

_The way he says it, I think he's trying to play it off, but from what I've seen this evening, I think he does like her. As in, he likes-her-likes-her. And then I think about his answer. And I wonder if maybe he's saying he has always liked-her-liked-her. _

_Maybe that's really why we're here._

*I*

Second Beach was beautiful—way more rugged and untamed-looking than any beach I'd ever been to before. I liked that we had to actually hike down a trail to get to it, so it wasn't ridiculously crowded like the beaches I've been to on the East Coast.

I was interested in what Bella said about that trail—that The Washington Trails Association heads up improvement projects that are kind of like a vacation too. I thought it was cool she mentioned it, as if she realized that sort of thing might appeal to me.

I tried to give Dad and Bella a little space. I didn't feel like I was unwelcomed, but I could see they were enjoying each other's company, talking, catching up, reminiscing. So I didn't mind when they occasionally lagged behind on the trail down, along the beach, or out by the beach stacks when we were checking out the tide pools.

Dad and Bella were checking each other out, too. But I didn't say anything. I _wouldn't_ mention it to Bella. But I did give Dad the eyebrow when I caught him staring. He gave me the frosty glare in return. I just laughed it off. Dudes are dudes, and even dads are dudes. And later that afternoon, I remembered to tell him Bella had been checking him out, too.

After we had scoped out the tide pools, Fitz and I ran back up the beach to our spot. I dug my phone out of my backpack and took a couple selfies of me and Fitz, a few shots of the beach and headlands, and then four candid photos of Dad and Bella as they strolled slowly back up the beach…

Dad laughing at something Bella was saying...

Dad pulling Bella back by the hand when she started to march away...

Bella trying to shove Dad with her hands on his chest...

Bella holding her stomach and Dad bent over with his hands resting on his knees—both of them looking at each other and laughing like crazy.

I didn't tell them I'd taken pictures of them, and I have no idea what the hell that conversation was all about, but it sure looked amusing. I'll print the photos up at home, and if they come out clear enough, once I blow them up a little, I'll give them to him. I think he'd like them. I think he'd like to remember that day on Second Beach, when the two of them were acting like teenagers.

*I*

Last evening worked out well. After our eventful day at the beach, we both wound up with plans for the evening. I got to go to the bonfire with Bree, and Dad got to take Bella out on a date. He didn't say it was a date, but it was obvious.

We took turns, shaving and showering when we got back to the motel. Dad dressed in his black jeans and gray polo shirt, but then he just stood there, looking at himself in the mirror for a moment, frowning. Finally he turned to look at me, sprawled across my bed with my phone.

*I*

"_I'm going to run to the store," he says. "I don't have a decent shirt to wear for dinner."_

_I nod, without taking my eyes off my phone as I reply to another of Bree's texts._

"_Where are you and Bella going?" I ask, without looking up._

"_I made reservations at a place I found online—a steak and seafood restaurant, overlooking the ocean a little ways down the coast. It had good reviews."_

"_Sounds nice," I tell him as I press send._

"_You want to come to the store, Mase?"_

_I look up at him. "No, thanks. I'll just hang out here."_

_He grabs his keys and wallet. "I won't be long."_

"_Take your time. I'm good."_

_He nods and crosses to the door._

"_You should get a button-up shirt," I say as he opens the door. "With long sleeves. Slim-fit if they have them." I glance up in time to see him rolling his eyes. _

"_Thanks for the advice…_Dad_," he says as he steps outside. I laugh. _

"_Hey, I'm just trying to be helpful…_Son_," I reply, as he shuts the door and my phone dings with another text. _

_A short while later, I get a text from Dad, among the texts I've been getting from Bree._

_**Just checking the approval rating.**_

_There's a photo attached and I start laughing out loud. It's Dad's reflection in a dressing room mirror. He's modeling a dark green, plaid button-up dress shirt with long sleeves. It looks like a slim-fit. But the expression on his face is priceless—like he can't believe he's doing this. I send a quick reply, laughing to myself._

_**You look like a stud. Buy it.**_

_I can just see him, shaking his head, rolling his eyes again as he reads that. I'm dying of laughter just thinking of it._

_But that's the shirt he comes back with._

*I*

Last night, when he returned after his dinner with Bella, he didn't seem to mind that Bree and the other girls were hanging out with me. He seemed really happy, and he was laughing as we told him about the rain dousing our bonfire. Judging from his mood, I didn't think the rain put a damper on his evening with Bella.

*I*

Today was the final day of our trip.

We stopped at the little coffee shop before leaving Forks and I met Dad and Bella's friend, Angela. Listening to the three of them talk, I was trying to imagine what they'd been like as teenagers, just hanging out. So I asked a couple questions once we were on our way to Port Angeles, and I got a bunch of entertaining stories about Dad, Bella and their friends back in the day.

It was funny, sitting in the backseat of Bella's truck, watching and listening to Dad and Bella interact in the front seat. They were definitely on even friendlier terms than Thursday night. Bella got flustered a couple times at things Dad said—but not in a bad way. He would tease her and she would laugh and tease him back. A couple times she blushed, though, and once she smacked at his legs. That was hilarious. But he deserved it. He just laughed. And he smiled a lot. And he had his hand on her shoulder practically the whole way to Port Angeles.

I wondered if he was reminding himself she was within reach, or hanging on before having to let go.

*I*

The few hours we spent in Port Angeles were nice. We walked along the waterfront and looked across the strait to Canada. Watching the big ships and smaller boats sailing by, reminded me a little of being back home, looking out on Lake Michigan.

After we did some shopping, we ate lunch in a little Italian restaurant. It was a place Dad and Bella used to go when they were dating. I guess I wasn't too slick and subtle, when I forced Dad into sitting next to Bella, but he didn't appear upset. Neither did Bella. I'm pretty sure they were holding hands under the table at one point, so I'm guessing it worked out okay.

After we ordered, Bella gave us books she'd bought while we'd been out shopping downtown. That was a complete surprise. And really thoughtful. The hiking guide she gave me was awesome. Perfect reading material for the flight home. She gave Dad a journal. I expect he has a lot to write about already.

Lunch was good, though not as good as Bella's lasagna. I think I wound up carrying the conversation during that meal, but I had a feeling they were thinking about us having to leave soon, and weren't feeling too talkative.

After saying goodbye to Bella at the airport, I headed inside the terminal, giving Dad a few minutes alone with her to say their goodbyes.

And ever since he met up with me inside the terminal afterwards, and we waited at our departure gate, and boarded our flight to Sea-Tac, Dad has been pretty subdued. I'm sure he's thinking about her.

I look over at him as our plane lifts into the air. I can see he's bummed to be leaving. He looks more than bummed. He looks…_dour_. Even without the beard. It's only been three days, but I can see he has real feelings for her. Maybe a part of him always has.

I have a feeling we're going to be seeing more of Bella Swan.

* * *

**A/N: I'd love to hear what you thought of Wingboy's thoughts and behind-the-scenes conversations with Dadward. . **


	27. Entries in their Journals

**Indelible**

**A/N: **It's the day after Bella took Edward and Masen to Port Angeles...where she gave Edward a journal...and bought one for herself.

* * *

**Chapter 27: Entries in their Journals**

*I*

_Sunday, April 21__st_

_I wrote so much yesterday about Edward's visit, that my hand keeps cramping up today. If I were to tell him I'd strained my hand, writing about him, he'd probably say that's comparable to spraining a tongue while making out. _

_Angela lured me over for Sunday dinner. I couldn't say no to her killer Shepherd's Pie, and it was good to see Ben and the kids and be "Aunt Bella" under more normal circumstances. _

_Ben asked about Edward, and I filled him a little. Beth wanted to know if Edward was my boyfriend. Andy told her to mind her own business. Then both kids waited for my answer. Thankfully, Ben told them Edward was a friend of ours from high school. Then he took the kids to the diner for ice cream sundaes, giving Angela and me a chance to talk. _

_I told her about my date with Edward, that we were going to keep in touch, and that he'd invited me to Seattle with them in June. I also told her he'd kissed me, Friday and again yesterday, and she hugged herself. Then she hugged me. Then she asked if I could ever see myself moving to Chicago. _

_When I was able to speak, I told her I can barely consider getting myself back to yoga classes, and that's just a mile away._

_When Ben and the kids returned, I played a board game with Beth while Angela and I chatted. Halfway through "Life," Beth picked up my little plastic car game-piece, pointed to the pink and blue pegs for the family I'd collected, and said, "Maybe this is you and Edward in the front seat, and your two kids in the backseat!" _

_I laughed. I told her Edward doesn't look anything like that little blue peg. Then I told Angela she had clearly passed the optimist gene down to her daughter._

_I didn't hear from Edward today, but he called last night to tell me they'd gotten home safely. After spending so much time with him the past few days, I really felt like something—well, someone—was missing from my day._

*I*

_**Sunday, 04/21/13**_

_**Today was a catch-up day for Mase and me—going through the mail, unpacking, laundry, grocery shopping, and getting organized for work and school tomorrow.**_

_**Mom called to see if we wanted to come for dinner, but I wanted a low-key evening. I begged off until later in the week, and said we'd tell them about the trip then. **_

_**This journal from Bella was a thoughtful and thought-provoking gift. The cover reminds me of Friday at Second Beach, and when I reread what she wrote inside, I'm hopeful we'll have more time together like that in the future.**_

_**I didn't see last week happening like it did, and I'd hate for Bella to think I showed up in Forks with an agenda. I just had to know she was okay and not entirely alone. Now it's surreal to think we spent four days together after all this time. **_

_**I'm sad for what she's been through, and what she's dealing with now, and it pains me to think it took seeing Charlie's obituary for me to seek her out. Still, I feel incredibly thankful she allowed me that. I've always regretted the way I left her all those years ago, so I'm grateful she gave me the chance to try and explain. Clearly I wasn't the only one who needed that. Hearing how much I'd hurt her, made me loathe what I'd done. She must have thought I'd completely trivialized what we'd had together. I was such a fucking idiot. **_

_**Somehow, after talking things out on Wednesday and Thursday, and spending more time together that evening, we moved beyond the rift I'd caused and began to salvage the friendship we'd had. Friday at the beach was a joy. She's still the girl I knew in so many ways. At dinner that evening, when she mentioned feeling like she had one foot in the past, I knew exactly what she meant. I felt it too: that effortless and instinctive familiarity. **_

_**We just left yesterday and I miss her already. Everything about her. I wish I could be there to help make things easier for her but I think she was happy the past couple days. Maybe I gave her that, at least. I just have to figure out how to keep that up long distance. **_

_**I'm tempted to call her now, but we just saw each other yesterday and spoke last night. I'm not sure she wants a daily phone assault. I just don't know how often is too often. Once a week won't be enough. Maybe twice a week? Three times?**_

_**One thing I do know—this day paled in comparison to the last few.**_

*I*

_Tuesday, April 23__rd_

_Mom called to see how I've been doing. I told her I'd been okay; I'd been keeping busy. I didn't mention Edward. I want to keep that to myself. No sense giving Mom cause for relentless interrogations. I won't have the answers. _

_She offered to fly back out for a week sometime so we could tackle the house together, but I don't want that. She's had thirty five years to move past Dad and this house. I'm not there yet. When I think of "home" I think of this house—it's been the one constant in my life over the years. My earliest memories took place here, as did many of my later memories—including some of my fondest._

_Edward called. It was nice to hear his voice and catch up on the past few days. Neither of us had much to report, but I told him I was glad he'd called and enjoyed our conversation. He said he did too. He wasn't sure how often to call, but I said he could call as often as he wanted. He reminded me I could call him, too. So I said I'd call him Thursday night. That's only two days away, but he sounded quite agreeable. _

*I*

_**Thursday, 04/25/13 **_

_**We had dinner at Mom and Dad's this evening. Masen looked downright smug, standing on their doorstep in his U-Dub T-shirt—chest puffed up, all proud of himself. My almost-college-boy. **_

_**Over dinner, we told them about our road trip, the visit to the university, and the day in Seattle. I told them we spent the rest of the week in Forks, left Masen's truck there, and flew back. I was hesitant to tell them about Bella, but Masen seemed barely able to contain himself, so I didn't see how it could be avoided.**_

_**I told them I'd seen Charlie Swan's obituary online before we'd left, and attended the funeral. They were saddened to hear of his death. Mom asked if I'd gotten to see Bella. All she had to do was look at Mase, sitting there smirking. No poker face whatsoever. I kicked him under the table and that just made him laugh. So I figured, fuck it, and told Mom, yes, Bella and I actually had quite a few opportunities to talk. **_

_**We gave them the rundown of our stay in Forks, although I withheld the more personal details—those are mine to keep. Masen told them about rescuing Bree at the beach and treating her injuries. Mom and Dad were proud of him, though Mom had further questions about Bree. He showed them a couple photos of her. Then Mom asked if I had any pictures of Bella, so I showed them the one Angela had taken. Then Masen mentioned he had additional photos of us. **_

_**That was a surprise. **_

_**I almost laughed out loud when I saw the four photos from Second Beach. He took them right when I was telling her I had her books. But I kept that to myself. Masen said he'd planned to print the photos, but we're out of photo paper. Dad said he had some, and Mase could print them up, if he wanted. So after dessert, they disappeared down the hall to the study, while I helped Mom clear the table. **_

_**Mom doesn't have a poker face—must be where Masen doesn't get his. I know she had questions, but she had the good grace not to pry. She was glad Bella and I had talked. Then she asked if we planned on keeping in contact. When I said yes, she smiled and began humming to herself. And I went to check on Mase and Dad when I couldn't take the humming anymore.**_

_**Bella called this evening. I told her about my day at work and dinner, but I didn't mention Masen's photos. That's a surprise.**_

*I*

_Saturday, April 27__th_

_I ran into Eric Yorkie at the gas station today. He said it's not official yet, but Liam Conroy will be moving to Portland, so the Forks Forum will need someone to fill his position as editor of the "Focus on Forks" page beginning in July. _

_Eric said it would be a slam dunk if I'm interested, and he's really hoping I'll think about it. And even though he doesn't do the actual hiring, since it goes through Sound Publishing, like the Peninsula Daily News, he says I'm a shoo-in. I have a degree in journalism, I already worked for Sound Publishing at the PDN, we know we work well together, plus I already live in Forks. _

_I told him I'd think about it, but it does sound appealing. It would be the third newspaper Eric and I have worked on together, after the Spartan Forum at Forks High and The Daily at U-Dub. I would have more variety than the column I got stuck with at the PDN, and it would get me more involved with the community. I would have a regular income and benefits, but still have time to focus on my own writing. And I am starting to go stir-crazy. Regular work would be good._

_Edward thinks the job sounds perfect, but I think he could tell I'm already leaning towards applying. And like he said—I don't have to commit to it for the rest of my life. People change jobs all the time._

*I*

_**Tuesday, 04/30/13**_

_**Bella sounded surprised when she texted me and I called her right back from work. I was just picking up some lunch, and she hadn't eaten yet, so she made a sandwich and we ate lunch "together" on FaceTime. That was nice.**_

_**She'd just gotten her mail and wanted to thank Masen for the photos. I told her I'd pass on the message. And I told her I had a matching set of photos.**_

_**She remembered exactly what was going on in those photos. She laughed and said it was when she found out her worst nightmare had come true—that I'd read her books! I laughed and said maybe her worst nightmare would be finding out I'm actually starting to re-read those novels, now that I know those teen boys are all me. Of course she blushed, and I got to see it.**_

_**Then she told me the other two things she'd gotten in the mail made her cry. I immediately apologized. I didn't realize they would upset her. But she said not to worry. They were just very touching. **_

_**After Charlie passed, she'd gotten notifications in the mail, when people made donations in his name to various organizations. So she recognized the envelope from the American Heart Association right away. But when she opened it, and read that a donation had been made in his name by the Cullen family—and it listed me, Masen, Mom and Dad, she got all teary.**_

_**She was so distracted, she didn't even look at the return address on the next envelope. She just opened it and got teary all over again when she saw it was a sympathy card from Mom and Dad, and then she cried when she read the note Mom enclosed. **_

_**She wouldn't say what Mom had written, because it would just make her start bawling all over again. But she said it was very kind, and it made her rethink how she saw my parents when she was a teen, now that she could see them through the eyes of an adult. **_

_**She said she'd send them a thank you note, but I should probably have a sit-down with Mom. I don't want her going overboard. The last thing I want is for Bella to run screaming into the hills. **_

*I*

_Thursday, May 2__nd_

_Edward is using his journal! Holy crap, what a conversation that was!_

_I don't even know how we got on the topic, but I mentioned I'd bought a similar journal for myself, and have been writing in it. He asked what I've been writing about, and when I hesitated—since most of it is about him—he said he could hear me blushing. _

_What crap! But I had to laugh. He can be so cocky sometimes! _

_I didn't answer him, I just turned the question right back on him, and asked what he'd been writing about in his journal. He didn't even hesitate, he just said, "Mostly about you." Thank goodness we weren't on Facetime or Skype, or he would have really seen me blush!_

_Masen must have heard Edward laughing, and come into the room, because the next thing I knew, I heard Masen's voice, saying "Hi, Bella!" into the phone. He said it in a sing-song voice, and I could just imagine him waggling his eyebrows at his father, teasing him. I said "Hi, Masen!" in the same tone. But Edward must have shoved him away after that, because the next thing I heard was Masen laughing and Edward telling him. "Get out of my study! Don't you know how to knock?! Go get your own phone call! Go text Bree!"_

_I miss them. I really miss Edward, but Masen is definitely a close second. I kind of love when he gives his Dad a hard time. And how cute is it that he's still talking with Bree?_

_The Forks Forum came out today. I took a good look at the Focus on Forks page. Besides the calendar of events and police crime blotter, there was a summary of the city council meeting, an article about the upcoming 5__th__ Annual Forks Family Fair at the Lodge, and Liam's historical column—featuring a photo and an article on the opening of the lumber mill, back in 1956. _

_I could totally do all that! It would be a piece of cake!_

*I*

_**Saturday, 05/04/13**_

_**I had a feeling today was going to be rough for Bella. When we spoke on Thursday, she said she was going to start going through "Charlie's Time Capsule" on the weekend. I knew she'd feel sad—like she's getting rid of pieces of him—at the same time, she has two households hanging in limbo and I think that's weighing on her. **_

_**Sure enough, I could tell she felt overwhelmed when I called. I wished I was there to help, because I knew it would have made it easier. So we got off the phone and onto Skype, and looking at her teary face on my computer screen, I suggested we start small. Really small. "You mean, like the bathroom?" she asked, dabbing at her eyes. I couldn't help smiling. She's cute, even when she's miserable. I told her I meant it in a figurative sense, but the bathroom was probably a good, less sentimental place to start. **_

_**She set her laptop on the counter, so we could see each other as we talked. It was strange, seeing that upstairs bathroom on my screen. My mind skipped right into the past. It took me a moment to rein in my thoughts, and I saw her blushing, so maybe she was remembering too. **_

_**We had taken showers together in that bathroom on a few occasions, after working together in the yard. We were just lucky fishing trips kept Charlie away from the house for hours at a time. And I'm probably lucky to be alive.**_

_**Bella went through everything in that room, tossing things she wouldn't use. We kept up an odd, sometimes funny conversation as she went, comparing our own preferences for personal care products. When I mentioned I used Charlie's brand of shaving cream, it put a big smile on her face. **_

_**She decided to part with the tan shower curtain and bathroom rug, but kept the brown towels to use on Fitz. She also kept Charlie's mustache comb and Old Spice cologne. I doubt she'll use that mustache comb, but scents are a powerful trigger for memories. To this day, the scent of strawberries makes me think of the shampoo she used to use. **_

_**I got a text later on, thanking me again for keeping her company. She attached a photo of her updated bathroom, with her new white, aqua, and light green striped shower curtain, and the towels, rug, and accessories she'd retrieved from storage. I called her back, saying her bathroom had a nice, bright, beachy feel to it now. **_

_**It was a small accomplishment but I could sense her relief. I told her she should keep things that mean something to her, but my guess is Charlie would have wanted her to make the house her own—even if she doesn't stay there permanently. And she agreed. **_

*I*

_Tuesday, May 7__th_

_Today was hard. Dad died a month ago today. Fitz and I went to the cemetery to visit him, even though it was overcast and misty. I doubt pets are allowed, but nobody said anything. He didn't pee on anything, and anyway, he's family, too. I know he wonders where Dad went. He still looks in his room sometimes, like he's looking for him. He kept me company while I talked to Dad, and I know he'll keep everything I said to himself._

_I told Dad about Edward, and that I suspected he had a hand in getting Edward out here, because of the timing and circumstances. I told him Edward was there for the funeral, and has been there for me ever since, even though he lives in Chicago. I told him we've been talking about three times a week. _

_Then I told Dad I loved him and missed him and hoped he didn't mind me sprucing up the bathroom and replacing his coffeemaker with the one I had in Flynn's Storage. I told him I was going to start on the kitchen next, because I have newer kitchenware, cookware and appliances, but that I'd be keeping his beer glass collection and Grandma Swan's dishes—the ones he used as a boy._

_I called Mom this afternoon. She didn't realize it was a month ago today that Dad passed. She had the date mixed up with the date of the funeral. Whatever. We talked for a while and I told her I'd started on the house so she wouldn't pester me about it._

_Edward texted me this morning, to let me know he was thinking about me—he obviously remembered what today was. When he called this evening, I told him about my shitty day. He's a good listener. Talking to him helped. _

_I wonder if he even realized he called me "sweetie," like he sometimes used to._

*I*

_**Thursday, 05/09/13**_

_**Bella and I Skyped today. I told her Masen would be in New York this weekend. Kate doubts she'll be able to attend his graduation, so he's flying there for Mother's Day weekend. Not that Kate has been much of a mother to him. I can't say that to Mase, but he's not dumb. At least this way he can see her before he leaves for Seattle, and before things get more hectic, as his senior year winds down. **_

_**Bella stopped by the Forum and told Eric she would apply for the job when it's officially posted. She said he was so happy he danced her around his office. That gave me pause, but then she said he's still such a goofy nerd and I had to laugh at that. He always was kind of nerdy. But very nice. And he's still happily married to Samantha Larkin. Because I did inquire. **_

_**Bella said Samantha actually called her later. Eric had told her Bella was interested in the job. Samantha was glad and she wondered when she could expect to see Bella at yoga class. Bella told me, "When your yoga instructor calls you personally, and tells you to get your ass back to class, you don't question it, you just tell her you'll be there next Wednesday." **_

_**Something for me to look forward to—imagining Flexi-Bella in yoga gear on Wednesday evenings.**_

*I*

_Sunday, May 12__th_

_I called Mom to wish her a happy Mother's Day. She loves the Chakra necklace I sent, but I knew she would. She's always been into things that are just a little "out there." _

_I told her I started on the kitchen and brought more things home from storage. The Community Church will be having a rummage sale next month, so I can donate Dad's clothes and smaller things. I told Mom I'd have a garage sale this summer for the bigger things._

_Once I mentioned summer, she reminded me I'd said I'd visit her and Phil. She'd like me to come before August, so I told her July would be okay. Even if I get the job at the Forum, I can write and research while traveling. I don't imagine I'll be seeing Edward for a while, after his trip out in June, so it would be nice to have something else to look forward to and get away for a bit. It's been a while since I visited Mom and Phil in Florida, and it's certainly better than having her come here and start redesigning and redecorating the house._

_Edward and I Skyped again this evening. Masen got back from New York today. They all took Esme out for an early Mother's Day dinner at her favorite restaurant and Masen told them about his visit. _

_I can tell Kate and her husband aren't Edward's favorite people. _

_I can't help wondering about the woman he was married to for six years, and with whom he had Masen. I guess I just wanted a face to put with a name. I mean, Edward knows Jacob. He knows what to imagine. So Edward texted me a photo from Masen's stay in New York and I looked at it while we were still on Skype. Standing next to his mother in the one photo, I could see some aspects of Masen's appearance that he got from his mother. _

_She was stunning—tall and slender, blond and blue-eyed. She looked polished. Almost regal. I said that aloud and Edward snorted. He said, "Yeah, that's about where her focus has been for the past fifteen years—acquiring things and looking like she deserves them."_

_We talked for quite a while after that. About Kate. And Jacob. And the idea of someone—a friend—stepping in when you need someone. And how sometimes that friendship isn't enough for the long haul. Sometimes things are less than what you expected or they never become more of what you'd hoped for, and instead of growing closer, you grow apart, wanting different things. _

*I*

_**Saturday, 05/18/13 **_

_**It's good to know I can sometimes get things right, even without Masen's help. **_

_**Not long after we returned to Chicago, he told me maybe I should think about sending Bella some flowers. I told him I took her flowers the morning we left Forks, right before we came back to the motel for him. That shut him up. I could tell he was impressed, because I earned a fist bump and a smirk. I'm pretty sure I gave him an eye-roll in return. **_

_**He doesn't need to know all of my business—like he thinks he does—but I think I'd earn a high-five for the bouquet I had delivered to her today. **_

_**The important thing is, she liked it. Even though she said it wasn't necessary. But when I told her it marked our halfway point, she liked that idea. And she liked that it was the same flowers as last time—freesias and lavender. I'm just glad I saved that little business card from that florist in Forks. **_

_**Bella said she kept the dried lavender from the first bouquet and put it in a bowl on her bedside table. The pretty scent relaxes her and soothes her to sleep. **_

_**And now I'm stuck thinking I'd rather it was me, next to her, soothing her to sleep. I can remember exactly how that felt, even though it only happened a few times.**_

_**I miss her.**_

*I*

_Monday, May 20__th_

_I didn't expect Edward to call this evening, since it's Monday. He asked what I was doing, and I told him I was out on a date. I felt so bad when he got all quiet. I was just teasing! I told him I was out with thirty other women for the Monday Night Women's League at Sunset Lanes Bowling Alley. He laughed at that. _

_I told him I go with Angela sometimes. It's an entertaining evening out. The women have all known each other for years, and they always joke around and gossip. I cheer on the crappiest bowler of the night—my kindred spirit. And…I have a soft pretzel to look forward to, during my wild night out with the girls. He said that was cute and I told him he might be seriously disturbed._

_I had to step outside to talk to him then, because the noise was too distracting. _

_He got a laugh out of some of the team names, and knew some of the bowlers, like the Holy Bowlers, Angela and Samantha's church team, the Edu-gutters, Mrs. Cope and Mrs. Goff's, retired Forks High staff team, In-Laws in Lanes, with Jessica Newton, her mother-in-law, Karen, Tyler Crowley's mom, and Tyler's wife, Lauren, and the hair salon team, Bowl Cuts, with Principal Greene's daughter, Heidi, and Austin Marks' wife, Katie._

_Edward told me he called a day early because he has a date after work tomorrow. With his friend, Pete. Funny boy, but now we're even. Pete is going through a divorce and needs a little TLC and probably a couple of stiff drinks, so Edward figured he'd call tonight, in case it's too late tomorrow. Or in case he drunk-dials me tomorrow._

_I laughed and asked why he would do that. He said he might just call to whine and complain about how mid-June is taking its slow-assed time to get here. That was cute. And I agreed._

_When I went back inside the bowling alley, I had to face the Spanish Inquisition: Why was I gone so long? Who was on the phone? What was I smiling about? I think it was Nettie Goff who exclaimed, "Bella's got a man!" I turned beet red, and Angela just sat there, grinning like a loon. And for the rest of the evening I had to put up with endless comments about "Bella's gentleman caller." _

_Shelly Cope offered me a ride home, since she lives next door, and so Angela wouldn't have to go out of her way to take me home. Her curiosity got the best of her by the time she pulled into her driveway. She turned and asked if my gentleman caller was Edward Cullen. _

_I almost swallowed my tongue! _

_She saw a black truck parked out front a handful of times last month, and two of those times, she saw him. She recognized him right away. Once, he was mowing the lawn, and the second time, he was walking up to the house with flowers. She said he was always such an attractive boy, and he'd only gotten more handsome with time. But she hadn't seen him or the black truck after that, so she wondered what happened, but didn't want to pry._

_I told her, yes, Edward Cullen is my "gentleman caller," but it's a long story, and he lives far away, and I don't know how the story will end. _

_So she invited me in for pie and coffee._

*I*

_**Thursday, 05/23/13**_

_**For some reason, I took Bella on a Skype tour of the house this evening. Well, Mase and I did. It started out just with me, in the study, but once I hit his room, he joined in, acting like a game show hostess for each successive room. **_

_**Bella giggled and commented on the Golden Pitcher Award on my dresser. Of course Masen was curious, so she explained she had made it for me after the championship game. He thought that was awesomely ridiculous and the coolest thing ever. **_

_**She laughed at our dining room-turned-weight room, but hey, we're bachelors. When would we have the need for formal entertaining?**_

_**When she saw the piano in the living room, she asked me to play for her. I started playing Claire de Lune, and she was surprised. But I remembered how much she used to like that song. I told her it always made me think of her. **_

_**I'd completely forgotten Masen was in the room. At least he didn't give me a hard time afterwards. He just slipped out of the room to go finish homework. Or maybe talk to Bree, since that's still going on. **_

_**Bella said the house seemed to mostly reflect me. She guessed the things that didn't must have been chosen by Kate. I told her, yes, she left some things behind that I never bothered to change. Not that I'm attached to them. They're just things. I told her most men don't put too much thought into home décor—we're more into comfort and utility.**_

_**She agreed and said some of the things in her house probably had more to do with her mother's taste than her father's, and realizing that made it easier to consider parting with more things she doesn't need or want. **_

_**We've only got a few weeks left until we see each other again, but I'm already starting to think about what comes after that. So I asked if she'd like to come visit me in Chicago at some point. She wants to get the house squared away, since she'll hopefully be working in July, and she already agreed to a trip to Florida in July, but she can come to Chicago in August. **_

_**I'm a happy man. I'd be happier if she were here right now, but as the saying goes, "good things come to those who wait." **_

*I*

_Saturday, May 25__th_

_Edward gave me some dates and times for their return trip. A little of it is still up in the air, and he hasn't made any hotel reservations yet, but we'll figure things out in the next three weeks. Three weeks!_

_They'll fly out early on Saturday, June 15__th__, arrive in Port Angeles around 10 in the morning and I'll pick them up. We'll come back to Forks and spend one or two nights here before going to Seattle, either on Sunday or Monday._

_Masen can move into his dorm at any time that week, starting on Sunday, June 16__th__. The only thing they have to do is attend an orientation meeting for new students and interested parents on Tuesday, the 18__th__, where Masen will register for his classes. We'll need to be in Seattle before then, to get him moved in—either on Sunday or Monday, I guess._

_Summer session classes don't start until the following week, so it looks like the three of us will have Monday and Tuesday evening free, as well as all of Wednesday and most of Thursday, before Edward flies home, on the evening of June 20__th__. _

_Edward was surprised I remembered June 20__th__ was his birthday, but I did—my birthday is at the beginning of the school year and his birthday is at the end of the school year—just three days after Mom's, on June 17th. Anyway, I told him we'll have to do something special to celebrate his fortieth birthday before he leaves. He said he'd rather not think about turning forty, but I told him we all do, it's a fact of life. So we're celebrating. That's a fact of life, too._

*I*

_**Sunday, 05/26/13**_

_**Last night was Masen's prom. I'm glad he went. Even though he and Jen are just friends it sounded like they had a good time with their other friends. He took some photos before and during prom and I texted them to Bella. She said he looked so handsome and so much like me. **_

_**I couldn't let that go. I asked, "Are you saying I'm handsome?" **_

_**Her response was hilarious. And cute. "No! Well, yes! I mean, you **__**were**__** handsome, back then, in your tux! Wait…I don't mean you're not **__**now**__**! You're still… Oh, my god, Edward! Why do you do this to me?!"**_

_**I was trying to stifle my laughter, so I could hear every word, as she dug a deeper and deeper hole for herself. But I did answer her—I told her I do these things to her because I'm an ass. **_

_**She burst into laughter and said, "But you're a handsome ass!"**_

_**I really wish I'd been there. I'm sure she would have smacked me, but I could just imagine her blushing for the next ten minutes. I told her she has no idea how cute she is when she gets all flustered, and the rest of the time…I think she's just plain lovely. She got flustered all over again, but it's the truth. **_

_**She moved the conversation on then, distracting me with her plans for tomorrow, since it's the Memorial Day holiday. She's going to a big pot-luck picnic at Tilicum Park, and I told her I remembered hanging out there with her and some of our friends from high school, pushing her on a swing, and just talking. She remembered too. It was right before I asked her out for the first time.**_

_**I told her Mase and I had been invited to a barbecue tomorrow, and Mase will probably go, since he's friends with their son, but I might feign an illness. She laughed and asked why, so I told her about Renata Demetri—always trying to set me up with women I have no interest in meeting. Tomorrow it's Zafrina Something-or-other, from her carpool.**_

_**Bella laughed and asked why I don't just tell Renata I'm seeing someone. From the way she said it, I could tell she meant, I should just make that up. So I told her I did tell Renata I was seeing someone, and Renata said to bring her along, but I said I couldn't—she lives in Washington State. **_

_**Bella asked if I was serious—that we're "seeing each other." I told her, if I could, I'd be seeing her regularly in person. But in the meantime, I'm seeing her pretty regularly on FaceTime and Skype, I'm not seeing anyone else, and I have absolutely no desire to see Zafrina Something-or-other at the Demetris' party tomorrow. **_

_**She laughed and said I was sweet. **_

_**I thought maybe I was being presumptuous, so I asked about her—if she's seeing anyone. She asked if the Monday Night Women's Bowling League counted. I chuckled and told her they don't count. Then I heard that shy timbre in her voice—like she was smiling—when she said, no, it's just me. Then she added that she'd be saying yes, to seeing me in person, if it were possible, but at least we have FaceTime and Skype for now. **_

_**So, we've agreed we're seeing each other. In cyberspace until we can do better.**_

*I*

_Tuesday, May 28__th_

_Angela came over this afternoon and helped me go through Dad's things. Having her there made it a little easier to deal with. She's good at doling out the tissues and hugs. I saved some of Dad's keepsakes: his service awards, Grandpa Swan's wristwatch, and Dad's Forks High class ring from 1970. _

_I kept some of Dad's clothing I think I'd use: a couple flannel shirts, his field jacket, a Mariners sweatshirt, his olf Forks PD sweatshirt, and some wool socks. He had a couple uniforms that I'll take over to the station. Maybe someone can use them. We bagged up his other clothes and carted them out to Angela's mini-van for the church rummage sale. _

_I told Angela I'm thinking about selling Dad's bedroom furniture, bringing mine home from storage, and making that bedroom my own. I want to turn my old bedroom into an office, where I can work and write, so I'll get rid of that bedroom set, too, but keep the desk and bookshelves. If I move Dad's plaid couch upstairs, the office could double as a guestroom, since the couch has a fold-out bed. Then I can move my sofa and loveseat into the living room._

_Angela asked what guests I planned on putting in the guestroom. I said Mom and Phil, of course, and if I move things around in the next couple of weeks, I can offer it to Edward and Masen when they return in June. Or possibly…some other time in the future._

_She just sat there smirking at me, so I told her to spit it out. _

_She pointed out that I've been talking to Edward four times a week, sometimes for hours at a time, and we've even had dinner and watched TV "together." So why the hell would I put him in a guestroom when he comes to visit? _

_Give me a break! I told her there's no way I can imagine myself sleeping with Edward while his son is right across the hall. _

_And what does she ask? "But you __can__ imagine yourself sleeping with Edward?" _

_Holy crap, she's merciless! I told her, of course, I can imagine it. I do imagine it. Sometimes. I mean, it's not hard to do, since we did, once upon a time. More than once upon a time. And if he were here now, maybe we would be, once again. But he's not here. He's over half a continent away. _

_So I try not to imagine it too much._

*I*

_**Thursday, 05/30/13**_

_**Bella officially applied for the Forks Forum job today online. **_

_**While she was on the computer she also listed her Volkswagen Jetta for sale in a classified ad in the Forum. She decided there's no reason to keep that car— Jake liked it more than she did, she doesn't need a reminder of her marriage, any more than she needs two vehicles, and she prefers driving Charlie's truck, anyway. I suspect she's always been a truck-driving girl at heart—it suits her.**_

_**The for-sale ad won't post until next week's Forum, but she's hoping it will sell quickly. In the meantime, it's parked out on the street with a "For Sale" sign in the window, so she can use that side of her garage to stockpile furniture and such for an eventual garage sale. **_

_**I told her I felt bad that Masen's truck is taking up the other half of her garage, but she said she didn't mind that at all. It was more annoying that the Jetta was sitting there, taking up space. **_

_**I can't help but feel happy for her. She sounds happy about making the house her own home—turning her room into an office, moving into the master bedroom, and getting her belongings out of storage. She's excited at the prospect of working at the Forum—working with a friend and keeping other friends informed about their community. **_

_**I think it's been a while since she put herself first, but I'm glad she's keeping busy and making changes that make her happy.**_

_**I'm proud of her. I told her Charlie would be too.**_

*I*

_Saturday, June 1__st_

_So Mom called this evening with a big surprise. She said she's been worrying about me, thinking about me being all alone, and thinking about how long it's been since we've really had a chance to spend mother-daughter time together. So she decided she wanted to do something fun. Something out of the ordinary. Something to look forward to. Something that would really lift my spirits. _

_So she planned a vacation. Only it's not just my vacation, it's hers too. I'm no longer flying to Florida to visit her and Phil for a week, I'm flying to San Diego, to meet her, for five days. She said the timing was perfect—the Jacksonville Suns are playing a series in Chattanooga, Tennessee, so Phil will be out of town with the team, and she's already been to Chattanooga too many times to count. She'd rather spend the time with me. _

_She was so excited, bubbling over with information so fast, I could barely keep up. With Phil's help, she booked our flights, a rental car, and a hotel room for the two of us to share at a beautiful, late Victorian beach resort, built in the late 1800's, right across the bay from San Diego. She said The Hotel del Coronado is a California Historical Landmark and a U.S. National Landmark, and she made me Google images of it on my laptop, while we were on the phone. _

_And it's beautiful. It really is. Such a stately collection of buildings, white structures with red rooftops, right there on the white, sandy beach, looking out over blue skies and sparkling deep blue water. It's just gorgeous. I told her so. And I told her I didn't want to even think about how much this would cost. And she just laughed and said the trip was already paid for. She and Phil wanted to do something nice for me after the year I've had, and give me a much-needed vacation. Then she asked what I thought._

_What could I say? It sounded so much nicer than being in sticky, humid Florida in July. So I told her it sounded amazing! And she was just beside herself. So delighted that she'd come up with such a wonderful plan. She said she knew I'd be happy. And she was so looking forward to it, because it's been nearly two years since we've really spent any time together. And she just hated the thought of me being alone on Father's Day, thinking about Charlie. This way we could be together that day, and celebrate my up-coming job, and what better birthday gift could she give herself, than spending time with her daughter!_

_And that's when I realized she hadn't yet told me the dates for this trip._

_Because Father's Day is June 16th this year. _

_And her birthday is on June 17th. _

_And the dates for Edward and Masen's trip are from the 15th to the 20th._

_And I know I told her I'd visit her in July, but somehow, she got June in her head. _

_Oh. My. God. I should have seen this coming! How did I not see this coming?!_

_I can't believe it! And I can't be mad at her because I did this to myself! I didn't tell her about Edward. I didn't tell her about my plans with him. And her heart is in the right place—she wanted to surprise me with something special. She wanted to do something to lift my spirits. _

_But this… This isn't it._

_Shit._

* * *

_**A/N: Well…shit. **_


	28. Back to Port Angeles

**Indelible**

**A/N: **This chapter picks up two weeks after that last journal entry you read. I hope you like it.

* * *

**Chapter 28: Back to Port Angeles**

It's eight o'clock Friday morning and I have places to go, things to do, people to see, and a dog who needs to get his butt in gear and poop before I can do any of it.

"Come on, Fitz! Make it snappy!" I yell from the porch.

He pauses to smile at me, before continuing to sniff at plants and pee on a select few. I think he's proud of himself, managing four successive pees while I've watched. But I'm waiting for more. He's not spending the morning inside, until he's performed the grand finale outside.

I don't know why I didn't let him out before I took my shower and got dressed. Now I'm in a hurry and he isn't. Maybe if I quit watching, he won't feel the need to impress me with his urinary prowess, and he'll just get on with the main event.

Heading back into the house, I pour a commuter mug of coffee, and then I make a quick tour through the house, checking to see everything is neat and ready.

By the time I return to the kitchen, Fitz is at the back door, job done, and ready for a chicken cookie. I give him a chewy activity as well—his preferred entertainment before taking his mid-morning nap in the sunshine spot in the living room. He has a busy morning ahead of him, but so do I. Giving him a pat goodbye, I grab up my purse and keys and head out the door.

Hopping in Dad's truck, I back out and start on my way to Port Angeles. I'm excited and nervous, and I feel frazzled already, but glancing at the clock, I think I should be okay on time. Edward and Masen's flight gets in at nine thirty and it's just eight fifteen now. I don't want to be late since they made the effort to get here early.

I don't even want to even think about what time they had to get up to catch a 6:30 flight this morning. Surely they had to be at the airport by 5:30 to get Masen's bags checked in. He's bringing clothing and gear for the next month and a half he'll be in Seattle.

Poor Masen, besides having to get organized and packed for summer session, he's had a whirlwind last month of high school. It started with prom and Advanced Placement exams at the end of May, and things just ramped up from there. In these first two weeks of June, he had his baseball banquet, a senior awards breakfast, his eighteenth birthday, final exams, and a senior barbecue. His graduation was the day before yesterday—on Wednesday—followed by a grad night celebration at his school, featuring a dance and "casino night" themed activities for the seniors that lasted until seven o'clock yesterday morning.

I doubt he's caught up on his sleep. In addition to the excitement of his last two weeks of high school, I know he's excited, thinking about this next adventure ahead of him. And because he'll get to see Bree. Because that's still a thing.

And I know exactly how that feels, because today I'm going to get to see Edward. Because that's still a thing, too. And I suspect sometime in the next two and a half days, we'll have a better idea of what kind of a thing it is. But I think it's a good thing, because there's already more coming. We're already planning on continuing this thing next month in Chicago.

Edward and I have talked so much over the past two months, sharing our thoughts and feelings about so many things. But I'm anxious for more. As much as I love hearing his velvety voice and infectious laugh over the phone and seeing his attentive, sometimes concerned, but more often crookedly smiling face on a screen, I want more. I'm craving the tangible. I want Edward in living, breathing, corporeal high-definition. I want to wrap my arms around him, breathe in the scent of him, and soak up the warmth of him. Because that sweet, funny boy I loved is still so present within the thoughtful man I've come to know all over again. Despite the distance that separates us, he has helped me navigate a lot in the last two months, listening, talking, and occasionally and figuratively holding my hand.

I feel kind of proud of myself. I've accomplished so much, especially in these past two weeks. I sold the Jetta for a decent price, and with help from Angela, Ben, Sam Uley, and his two grown sons, furniture I didn't want has been moved out of the house and into the garage, and all my things from storage have been moved home. And with the living room and bedroom furniture I bought several years ago post-divorce, it looks more like _my_ home now.

Dad's comfy recliner, big flat screen TV, console, and sound system are still in the living room, but I've moved in my chocolate brown sofa and loveseat, and my tables and lamps. My own bedroom furniture and smaller TV are now in the master bedroom, with Grandma Swan's old rocking chair near the window overlooking the backyard. My old bedroom is now a cozy home office that can function as a guestroom, with my desk and bookshelves on one wall and Dad's plaid fold-out couch and end tables on the opposite wall.

Above my desk is my old bulletin board, cluttered with mementos and photos. Right next to it, in matching frames, are the four photos Masen took of Edward and me at Second Beach. A few other framed photos of me and my parents hang above the couch, and on the side wall, next to the window is the silly, singing Big Mouth Billy Bass that Billy Black and Harry Clearwater gave Dad for his fiftieth birthday. It's hideous, but I just can't seem to part with it.

My former bedroom is still the same green Dad painted it when I moved home years ago, and I think I'll keep it that way for now. The rest of the house is mostly off-white or tan, and that's fine too, for the time being. But the kitchen really needs repainting. The dated, pale yellow Mom chose in the early seventies has out-lived its welcome. I'm thinking taupe, with a fresh coat of white paint on the cabinets—a volunteer project for a handful of helpful bowlers I know. They'll provide the womanpower and levity and I'll provide the food and wine. But that project will have to wait until the end of the month, after my return from San Diego.

*I*

As our plane takes off down the runway at SeaTac, I look over at Masen, gazing out the window with interest, and I lean close to catch the unfolding view. The plane lifts into the air, gaining altitude as we head west for Port Angeles, and we are treated to the striking combination of land and waterways that make up Puget Sound.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" I ask, looking at the sparkling waters of the Sound below us.

"Yeah," he agrees, nodding. "It'd be cool to explore."

He yawns and stretches and I lean back into my own seat, wondering if he's still tired. I had to wake him from a sound sleep to make our connecting flight, but he seems a little more alert after his nap between Chicago and Seattle.

"You know, once again, you haven't been a very entertaining travel partner," I tell him.

He chuckles and turns to look at me. "Maybe if you'd do a better job, keeping me engaged and entertained, I wouldn't doze off from boredom."

I smile at his comment. "I doubt sparkling wit and conversation would have helped. You were still _grad-lagged_ when I dragged you out of bed this morning. I figured you'd sleep."

"Yeah. I feel pretty good now."

I just nod. I don't know how he does it. I can't sleep, sitting upright in these seats, but somehow he manages. It's not like I was bored, though. I had a book to read, and even after I gave up trying to concentrate on that, my thoughts of Bella kept me busy while I waited for the distance and time to pass.

My long-distance conversations with Bella have been the highlight of my days for the last two months. We've covered a lot, from the meaningful to the mundane, and I enjoyed every moment. But I just can't wait to see her and spend time with her again. I know this visit will surpass the last one, even if it will be a little shorter than we'd originally intended.

I shake my head, thinking about that frantic phone call I got from Bella just two weeks ago, telling me her flighty mother had planned a surprise vacation getaway for the two of them. Typical Renee—trying to do something thoughtful and exciting without thinking it through—but I understood why she'd done it as a surprise.

If she'd run the plan by Bella first, in all likelihood, Bella would have vetoed the idea as being too extravagant and unnecessary. So Renee meant well, and she was just trying to be a good mom, and do something thoughtful for her daughter. She kept offering to fly back and help Bella with the house and Bella kept putting her off. So, left to her own devices, Renee came up with this alternate and fabulous, yet harebrained surprise.

They're such opposites, Bella and her mom. She's so much more like Charlie than Renee. Bella is as cautious as Renee is capricious. Bella formulates an organized plan and Renee just jumps in with both feet, and eyes closed. Bella is orderly and sensible and Renee is haphazard and whimsical.

But Bella is also driven to please others. A reliable friend and a responsible daughter, she hates to let anyone down. So even though she explained to her mom, right then and there, that she already made prior plans for that very same week, she still felt bad, asking Renee to change the dates for their San Diego trip.

And when Renee asked if it wouldn't be possible for Bella to change _her_ plans, Bella finally told her about me.

I know she was just being cautious, waiting to say anything about what's been going on between us. I'd told my folks she and I were in contact again shortly after my return from Washington, but our situations are different. Bella and her mother live three thousand miles apart. I live a few miles from my folks and see them regularly. And if I hadn't told my parents anything about Bella, there's a hundred and ten percent chance Masen would have. And my mom might hum her head off happily at whatever information I choose to share, but at least she doesn't pry. Unlike Bella's mom.

So I wasn't surprised Bella hadn't previously mentioned anything to her about me.

And I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me to find out Renee wondered if Bella could change _her_ plans, since Renee, being Renee, had booked a _non-refundable_ vacation package deal—airfare, hotel, and rental car—without consulting Bella first.

Bella was beside herself—torn because she was upset, but trying not to be. I heard all the exasperation and frustration in her voice. But I told her not to panic. There was no reason she couldn't do both—see me and see her mom. I told her I could easily change the dates of our trip. Masen and I could fly out to Washington sooner, Bella and I could still spend a few days together, and she could still do the trip with her mom. As much as I would have liked to spend more time with her now, I assured her we'd have plenty of other opportunities.

I'll make certain of that.

She was concerned about Masen—that he wouldn't want to leave home so quickly after graduation, and would want to hang out with friends a little. But I told her he was anxious to get to Washington too, and he'd be back the whole month of August before fall semester starts up.

I told her I'd look into changing our flights in the morning, and tell her what I'd come up with when I called the next day.

We got off the phone then and I picked up my journal to recount the unforeseen turn of events, but just as I began writing, it struck me there was a real positive in all this, so I called her back immediately.

The original plan was five days together in Washington in June, followed by her trip to Florida in July, and then she'd come to Chicago in August. With the revised plan, Bella and I would still be able to spend a few days together in June, right before her adventure with her mom—also in June—leaving her free to come to Chicago in July, a whole month sooner than we'd previously planned.

So, crisis dealt with and something good to look forward to: we'll be seeing each other again in just a few weeks.

She was happy I'd called her back to point out the silver lining in all this. And she was agreeable to coming to Chicago in July. And I'm already hoping to convince her to stay with me for at least ten days. Possibly two weeks. Or longer.

I glance over at Masen, realizing he's been quiet the whole time my mind has been wandering. But he's not asleep. He's listening to music and scrolling through photos on his phone.

Selfies of Bree.

Coming here earlier definitely isn't a hardship for him.

*I*

I stand, watching the steady stream of arriving passengers coming through the gate. Finally I see them—a matched pair of lanky Cullens—backpacks slung over a shoulder, carryon bags in their opposite hands. I'm smiling at them before they even see me. Edward's eyes are searching, and then he spots me, breaking into a smile that makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight. He taps Masen on the shoulder and points in my direction. I get another smile and a nod as Masen spots me and heads in my direction, with Edward right behind him.

"Hi! Welcome back!" I tell them as they approach.

"Hey, Bella." Masen grins and gives me a quick one-armed hug, before stepping aside for his dad.

Looking at Edward's bright green eyes and sunny smile, I feel like a giddy schoolgirl. He's beaming at me.

"Hi, Edward. It's good to see you," I tell him, beaming right back at him as the butterflies flutter.

"It's good to see you, too, Bella," he says, releasing his carryon and scooping me into a hug. And it's such a thrilling sensation. Wrapped in his arms, and responding in kind, I soak up everything that's been missing these past two months—the feel, the warmth, and the scent of him.

He exhales a low growl of contentment, followed by a murmured, "I missed you." With a kiss on the cheek, he finally releases me, and we're grinning at each other again, like teenagers discovering a mutual crush.

And then I remember the teenager accompanying him.

I look over at Masen, and sure enough, he's watching us, smirking at his father and me, and my cheeks pink up at our behavior.

"You guys done?" he asks with a little grin, and I blush that much more. But it's funny and sweet, the way he teases his dad—and now me too, apparently. He knows what's going on between his father and me, and he's okay with it, but he still can't resist teasing. He's so much like Edward sometimes.

Edward just laughs at his words. "Done for the moment," he says with a shrug, shooting me that crooked Cullen smile.

Retrieving his bags from the floor, we head off in the direction of baggage claim, the two of them completing each other sentences as they tell me about their morning.

I tell myself not to ogle Edward, walking alongside me, but somehow my eyes don't get the message, and they just can't believe he's finally here. They turn to look up at him and discover he's watching me. My cheeks heat again, but he just smiles as his free hand finds mine, clasping it snugly in his.

It's kind of strange, how close we've become, just talking long-distance. The physical aspect has been waiting on the back burner, just simmering away for the past two months, unable to develop normally. But between that hug and this hand-hold, I get the feeling he has been craving the tangible as much as I have.

"Anyone feeling hungry?" I ask, once we have collected luggage and are exiting the terminal.

I get a resounding "I am" from the pair of them, and I laugh. They must be starving. It must feel like it's post-lunchtime to them, with the time difference and early morning they had, but I remind them it's just before ten o'clock here on the West Coast. But they're not picky, so breakfast it is, and I tell them I've got the perfect place in mind.

We pile their bags into the backseat of the truck, since we'll be stopping again, and Masen climbs in next to them. As he shuts his door, Edward takes my hand, walking me around the truck, to the driver's side, I assume. But he stops at the truck's backend, and reels me in close, linking his hands behind the small of my back as I slide my hands up to his shoulders. I smile as I realize he has positioned himself between me and the truck, giving us a bit of privacy from his son.

"Did I tell you I missed you?" he asks, smile lines crinkling at the corners of his sparkling eyes.

"Yes, you did," I laugh. "Weren't you paying attention?"

He shakes his head and grins. "Not to me." And then his expression grows slightly more serious. "I just wanted to make sure you knew."

"I do know. And I missed you too." It's not like we haven't been saying it to each other for a while now.

My gaze drops to his perfect, smiling mouth. And when I look back up into his eyes, the air leaves my lungs and my stomach does a little flip. Those green eyes are looking a little lustier suddenly. I think things are about to get a lot more tangible.

And they do.

His head tips down as mine lifts, our lips meeting as we pull each other closer. This is no restrained or tentative peck on the lips. It's a determined comeback kiss, firm and self-assured, as he cradles my head in his hand. It's familiar yet new and absurdly exciting. I've kissed him before, but it's been a very long time since we've kissed like this. And when his lips part, inviting me in, I accept—opening to the sweet, sublime caress of his tongue. My hands curl around to the nape of his neck, holding him in place as his hand trails down my back, pressing me more tightly against him.

It's the perfect kiss, even if it's all too brief. Even if we're standing in the airport parking lot. Even if his son is waiting for us. And even if I'm going to die of embarrassment the minute we get in the truck with him.

We break the kiss and Edward pulls his head back to look at me. I'm warm and lightheaded, and he's looking a little flushed, but we're both smiling. He takes a deep, steadying breath and exhales a breathy little chuckle as he looks at me with those beautiful bright green eyes.

"Had to get that out of the way," he says, looking slightly sheepish as he rakes a hand through his hair.

I laugh, squinting up at him in the sun. "You've had that on your mind, have you?"

He nods, brushing a few stray hairs back off my face. "For about eight weeks."

"Well, same here." My admission makes him grin.

"We'd better get moving before Masen starts honking the horn," he says with a quick glance over his shoulder. And I nod.

"Just act natural," he tells me with a wink as he releases me.

I laugh. Yeah, right.

I look back over at him as I walk around to the driver's side, blushing as I catch him making a quick, stealthy adjustment in the front of his jeans.

Yeah, "just acting natural" is definitely not going to be happening.

As we open our doors I can see Masen has been fiddling with his phone. He glances up, smiling from his father to me and back, and Edward fixes him with a pointed look.

"What?! I didn't say _anything_!" Masen protests, looking back down at his phone with a smirk.

Edward gives me an eye-roll as he climbs in and it's all I can do not to laugh. With a savvy teen involved, there's just no avoiding the awkward, but at least I can focus on getting us to our destination.

"And we're off to breakfast!" I announce, hoping to distract us all from the ridiculous moment—equal parts exhilarating and embarrassing.

"Where are we going?" Edward asks, as I pull out onto the 101, heading for downtown Port Angeles.

"A little café just off Front Street, called _Great Eggspectations_. It's usually pretty crowded, but at ten o'clock on a workday, I'm hoping we won't have a wait."

"I'm going to guess they serve…_great eggs_," Masen says drolly.

"And you'd be right." I nod. "They also have great omelets, breakfast scrambles, and quiches, but the best thing on their menu is their Dutch Baby. Do you know what that is?" I ask, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah. I've had that back home in Chicago. It's a big puffy pancake, right?"

"Yep. And theirs is to die for. I'm salivating already, just thinking about it."

"You'd think they could call it something less gruesome," Masen muses. And then, in a fiendish voice, he adds, "There's nothing more delicious than a succulent Dutch _Beh-by_." And I'm laughing. The malevolent voice just doesn't mesh with his smiling boyish face.

Edward is laughing too, but mostly at me, I think, as he reaches over to rest his hand on my leg. "Don't encourage him. It's never a good idea," he tells me, shaking his head. But glancing at Masen's face, I think it's probably already too late.

When we get to the café, we are shown to a booth, and after I slide in on one side, Edward slides in next to me—without any fancy footwork from his son, like the last meal we ate in in Port Angeles. Edward's hand goes right back to my leg, like it was on the drive over, and I put my hand on top of his. We order coffees and a Coke, and after looking over the menu, we agree to share the Dutch Baby, a veggie omelet, and a sausage breakfast scramble.

When our food arrives, Masen begins clasping and wringing his hands, making slurping noises as his twinkling eyes stare at my plate. "That's a mouthwatering looking _Beh-by_ you have there," he says in that same evil voice, making me laugh, and making Edward give me an I-told-you-so look.

"Yes, yes," I agree as I prepare to wield my knife and fork. "Now, let us feast upon this tender and tasty _Beh-by_."

He bursts into laughter as I begin cutting into the puffy pancake, filled with apple slices, cranberries, and caramelized pecans. I guess I must have sounded suitably sinister, because I earn a fist bump from him over the top of the table.

Once I've cut the first slice, I lift it onto my fork and turn to Edward. "_Beh-by_?" I ask, quirking a brow and stifling a giggle as I offer it to him. He laughs, shaking his head and then nodding.

"Sure, I could sink my teeth into a delectable Dutch _Beh-by_."

Once we've exhausted the Dutch Baby jokes, we get down to the business of eating, all three of us moaning around forkfuls of the delicious puffy pancake. They agree it's the best. It's like a breakfast dessert, but I'm glad it's interspersed with bites of veggie omelet and sausage scramble, so we won't fall victim to carbohydrate coma.

As we finish up our breakfast we begin to discuss the plan for the rest of the morning.

Masen needs to do some shopping for his dorm room—things that were too unwieldy to pack and bring from home, and that he'll need for future semesters of college. Forks doesn't have much of a selection, so I suggest we do the shopping here, today, in Port Angeles. They've spent most of the day sitting, so it might be good to walk around a bit, anyway, before we make the hour-long drive back to Forks. And this way, I tell them, we'll have more free time in Seattle, tomorrow and Sunday.

They're happy with that plan, so once we head back to the truck, I drive us over to the Walmart Supercenter. I know the place like the back of my hand, I tell them, and we should be able to get everything Masen needs in one quick stop. Unless he's picky. Which he's not, he assures me.

As we exit the truck, Edward asks if Masen has his shopping list with him.

"It's all right here," Masen says, waving his phone.

Inside the store, I ask to see the list and Masen hands me his phone. Edward stands next to me, with his hand at the small of my back, peering over my shoulder as I read.

"What are we doing?" Masen asks uncertainly as we stand there, looking at his phone.

"Bella's plotting a course," Edward says. "I'm guessing…?" He looks at me with a knowing little grin.

I nod, smiling that he remembers how much I hate meandering aimlessly through a store.

"Bella is a '_git in and_ _git 'er done_' sort of shopper…" he explains to his son.

"If we make an organized loop, we won't have to backtrack and we'll get done more quickly," I add.

Masen laughs. "Sounds good to me." And Edward nods in agreement.

Masen grabs a cart and I lead the way, and in a rather short time, he has selected bedding for his XL-Twin dorm bed, two pillows—so he can prop himself up to read in bed, bath towels, plastic hangers, a collapsible laundry basket, trash can, a small printer for his laptop, a desk lamp and a lamp for his night stand, detergent, a few school supplies including printer paper, a variety of toiletries, a case of bottled waters, and an assortment of protein bars.

Anything else he discovers he needs, he can buy later or borrow from his roommate or dorm mates, Edward tells him. Masen just nods as we stand at the checkout, watching as his college purchases are rung up on the register.

"When we get to my house, we can wash your sheets and towels," I tell him, once we're on our way out the door. He looks a little confused, so I elaborate. "They'll be softer after washing, and lose that weird factory scent. Then they'll be all ready for you to use at school."

"Oh. Yeah." He nods. "That would be great. Thanks, Bella."

He pushes his cartload out to the truck, and Edward and I follow along behind him.

I tug on Edward's shirt and he leans down close as I whisper in his ear.

"He knows about doing laundry, right?" And he chuckles.

"We're still fine-tuning that," he whispers back. "He understands it's time to do laundry when there's nothing clean left to wear. But remembering to strip the sheets and add them to the pile is still kind of hit and miss."

I make a face and stifle my laughter. "Were you like that when you went off to college?"

"Oh, yeah. It's a guy thing." He smiles broadly, looping an arm around my shoulders as he slides his sunglasses into place.

I shake my head, smiling to myself. And all along I thought Edward was the perfect boy.

"Thank you," he says, looking over after a moment.

"For what?"

He shrugs, smiling. "For everything. I'm enjoying my day."

I laugh. "Edward, we've eaten breakfast and shopped at a Walmart!"

He laughs. "Yeah, I know. It's been pretty perfect, hasn't it?"

I can't help smiling at his grinning face. And I certainly can't disagree with him. "It has."

We rearrange everything in the truck. Luggage and heavier items are now in the truck's bed, lighter things on the backseat and floor. Masen is ready for a comfy ride back to Forks, propped against his pillows and comforter, piled in the corner.

"Want me to drive?" Edward asks, once we're all set to go.

I shrug. "If you want to. You remember the way?"

He snorts. "Let's see… I drive out here…and get onto the 101West…continue on the 101West…and then stay on the 101West."

"You got it," I tell him, pressing my keys into his palm.

I climb in on the passenger side, buckling up as Edward starts the engine. He backs out of the parking space, drives out of the Walmart lot, and down the street that leads to the highway. As he makes the turn onto the 101West, he looks over and reaches for my hand.

"We're home free now," he announces with a crooked little smile.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked it and them. And Dutch Babies are to die for, just saying.**


	29. A Friday in Forks

**Indelible**

**A/N: **We're heading back to Forks for some family fun.

* * *

**Chapter 29: A Friday in Forks**

Driving back to Forks, it's all I can do to focus on the road ahead. All I want to do is look at her. But with her hand clasped in mine, I can feel she's really there, right next to me. At least she's turned sideways in her seat, so I can see her pretty face every time I glance over. And maybe she's facing this way and smiling for the same reason I'm clutching her hand and smiling.

It's just so good to see her again.

I think I might have surprised her with my displays of affection this morning in the airport and again out in the parking lot. At least I waited to kiss her when we were able to steal a moment to ourselves. And she didn't push me away, she pulled me in. She was an active and willing participant, and damn, that was a good kiss…

Still, this is a bit awkward because I've got my nosy sidekick with me.

I'm sure she realizes whatever entertainment Mase gets out of our behavior is at my expense, not hers. He doesn't really want to embarrass her, he just gets a kick out of giving me a hard time. His tongue-in-cheek comments are simply a sign of his approval. If he didn't approve, he wouldn't tease. He'd just be polite but reserved.

He knows she makes me happy and I know he likes her—I can see it in his actions. He's friendly to her, and I'm sure a part of that is curiosity because she's tied to my past when I was his age, but it's more than that. She takes a genuine, friendly interest in him and it's nice to see them interacting because he and I are a package deal. Even though he's technically an adult now, at eighteen, he's still my kid, so he's part of the mix.

I look over as she asks him another question and then I glance in the rearview mirror as he responds. He's been telling her about graduation and the grad night activities afterwards. I texted her a couple photos of him in his cap and gown and told her a little about his evening on the phone, but Mase is giving her the full run-down, showing her photos of himself with his friends. I contribute to the conversation occasionally, but mostly I'm content to watch and listen to them.

When Masen asks what we did in Forks when we graduated, I look over at Bella and I'm tempted to laugh. She has that deer in the headlights look on her face, so I jump in. I tell Mase we went out to dinner together with our families after both of our graduations and there were grad night celebrations up at the high school, but Bella and I mostly just hung out together afterwards.

I leave it at that. But I'm thinking about the _afterwards_.

And how graduation night was always a busy night shift for all available officers of the Forks PD, keeping the community and its new graduates safe and sound from excessive celebrating.

Not that Charlie had to worry about us. At least in that respect…

The year I graduated, Bella and I had only been dating for about a month. After graduation and dinner with my parents, I took Bella home, then I went to the senior celebration at the high school. As ASB president, I was expected to put in an appearance, but as a junior, Bella couldn't attend. So I ducked out early and went back to her house, where we watched a movie for a little while, and then spent the next couple hours making out on the couch.

The following year, we shared an awkward dinner with Charlie, Renee and Phil, after Bella's graduation, and she went to the senior celebration with her friends for a while. But once Charlie's shift was underway, I picked her up and we went back to her house—where we had graduated from the couch to her bed, and I had become quite adept at entries and exits via the tree outside her bedroom window.

I glance over to see Bella's face angled away. She's looking out the window, but maybe she's looking back, like me. I give her hand a squeeze and when she turns her head, she's wearing a smile and warm blush that has my name on it.

*I*

When we get to Bella's house, I pull her truck around and back up into the driveway. We have to transfer Masen's things into his truck for the drive to Seattle tomorrow.

Climbing out onto the driveway, Bella opens the garage door with her remote.

"There it is." She smiles at Masen. "Right where your dad parked it."

He grins as he walks up to his truck, leaning over the back end, arms spread wide. "I've missed you so," he says, patting the rear fender affectionately. Such a goof.

"It's not like you were housebound," I remind him. "You got to use my car."

"Your Volvo is a Mom-car. Real men drive trucks." I give him a pointed look, tipping my head in Bella's direction, and his eyes widen as he realizes we just got out of _her _truck. "As do real cool _women_," he adds, giving her a bright smile.

Bella laughs. "Nice save, Masen."

"You think maybe we can go for a ride later?" Masen asks as we begin hefting our bicycles and detached front wheels out of his truck's bed, to better organize his suitcases and dorm-purchases.

I look over at Bella and she shrugs.

"Sure. But my bike is back behind some of that furniture. And my tires might need air."

"That's not a problem," I tell her, spotting the tire pump hanging on the wall. So it's decided. We'll go for a ride this afternoon.

We search through Walmart bags for Masen's sheets, setting them aside to take in the house with our carry-on bags. Then we load everything else into the truck bed and back seat.

I'm curious to see the house, now that Bella has settled into the idea that it's _hers._ I have a general idea of changes she's made from our conversations, but I've only seen photos of the bathroom she tackled first. I know the furnishings are her own post-divorce purchases, so I'm looking forward to seeing Bella's place.

As we climb the front steps I can hear Fitz barking inside, and when Bella unlocks and opens the door, he still has more to say. She quiets him as we step inside, reminding him who we are. He must remember our scents because he starts wagging, though he's barking again, but Bella assures us those are _greeting_ barks, not _warning_ barks, because he's "tap dancing" and that means he's happy. We laugh but the description is accurate.

Masen squats down to pet him and Fitz scoots his hind end around to hip check me, looking up over his shoulder. I get the message and stoop down, peering up at Bella as I begin scratching Fitz' butt.

"This must be my designated end," I tell her and she giggles. Masen laughs, too, ruffling up Fitz'crazy mis-matched ears.

"You're such a good boy!" he tells Fitz.

Once we get the greeting-scratches out of the way, we stand to move beyond the entryway.

"So, this is it…" Bella says, waving a hand towards her living room.

I can feel her eyes on me as I look around, taking it all in: plush, chocolate brown couches with some scattered pillows in a mix prints in brown, pale green, light blue, and off-white. There's an afghan in the same hues, dark end tables with sparkling off-white lamps, a leather ottoman, a framed rugged seascape above the couch, light blue drapes, and a handful of plants. She's kept some of Charlie's things—the recliner, TV, and the console beneath it. Everything goes together—new and old. It looks nice and cozy.

I smile as I give her my verdict. "This looks great, Bella. Comfortable but pretty. It definitely doesn't look like The Time Capsule anymore."

"Yeah, it's nice," Masen agrees. I smile. He's not into interior decorating but he knows this wasn't easy for her, and he's a good kid.

She smiles at us. "Thanks. I'm happy with it. I don't feel like I'm just visiting anymore. And it's nice to use my own things again. Come on, I'll give you the tour." She heads for the kitchen and Masen and I follow, with Fitz trailing us.

There are new blue curtains on the side window and beneath it, a dark brown, oval dining table with chairs. I smile at the little bowl of seashells and sea glass from Second Beach, centered on the table. The kitchen has some new accessories and small appliances, as well as a new stainless steel refrigerator.

"I haven't had the chance to paint, so you'll have to imagine taupe walls and a fresh coat of off-white on the cabinets. And I'd like to replace the old oven and dishwasher to match the fridge…" She looks at me and sighs. "I'd really like to re-do the whole kitchen. It's so dated."

I chuckle and nod. "Once you start renovating, the projects always seem to grow. But it's not a race. You can make changes over time. I think you'll be happier once you paint."

"Yeah, you're right."

We head upstairs and the first stop is the bathroom. It looks even nicer and brighter in person with the blue and green accessories. I tell her it looks beachy and she smiles, reminding me I said the same thing when I saw the photos she texted.

We move on to the master bedroom next, which is her bedroom now. It's lighter and airier than it was as Charlie's room, with new off-white curtains. Her old rocking chair is in the corner near the window, but everything else is new. The bedding is a deep green with a subtle vine pattern in lighter and darker shades. It looks lush against the dark wood of the furniture.

"This is pretty and restful but I wasn't expecting green. You were the girl who once told me Forks was _too green_," I remind her.

She smiles and nods, remembering. "I guess green grew on me over time."

I look at her in mock alarm. "You mean, like…_moss_?"

"Eww!" She wrinkles her nose as she pushes me back out into the hall and I'm grinning at her reaction as we head to the next room.

It stirs up a lot of memories as I walk through the door, looking around her old bedroom. I think this might actually be the new time capsule. But it's her time capsule. Or maybe I feel like it's our time capsule. Even though the plaid couch isn't the same one from years ago, it's similar. The walls are the same green Charlie painted them, and her desk, bookshelves and dresser are all still here, but her old bed is missing and I feel a brief pang of nostalgic loss.

"This used to be my room," she's telling Masen. "Now it's my office and guestroom. The couch folds out into a queen-sized bed, but the living room couch is also an option for guests. I didn't know if you'd want to share the guestroom, or have your own space."

I turn to look at them. Bella and I discussed this over the phone. I didn't want the sleeping arrangements to be awkward for either of them, and I certainly didn't want to presume I'd wind up in her bed, so we decided to let Masen choose and go from there.

"I'll take the couch downstairs," he says. "Dad snores like a cartoon bear."

"Only when I have a cold!" I counter, rolling my eyes. "At least I don't make snow angels in other people's beds while I sleep."

"That was years ago!" Masen laughs. "I couldn't help it. I had nightmares!"

Bella is giggling at the both of us. "It's probably best to separate you two, given your sleep disorders."

"Hey, Dad has these in his study, too," Masen says, noticing the photos from Second Beach, framed and hanging near her desk.

"Oh yeah?" She smiles at me and I nod. Then she looks back at him. "I'm glad you sent them."

He smiles as he moves over to her bulletin board, still covered in a collage of photos. A few are from her childhood but most are from her high school and college years. When I see photos of me, and the two of us together, I slide my arm around her waist.

She never took those photos down. Despite what I did.

Masen moves on to Bella's bookshelves and I'm vaguely aware of him saying something about a high school yearbook, but I'm still looking at that bulletin board, remembering faces, places, and captured moments in time.

A fine gold chain, pinned near the edge, catches my eye and my breath catches in my throat. I reach out, lifting the end of the necklace from behind a photo. Suspended from the chain is a small gold heart with a white gold filigree edge and a script "_B_" engraved in the center.

My emotions are muddled. I'm surprised to see it. I'm touched she kept it. I'm sad knowing I gave her reason to quit wearing it.

With a start, I realize Bella is back at my side and I've been caught. Guilty of snooping. Glancing behind us, I see Masen on the couch, engrossed in an old yearbook.

"I saw the chain…and…I was just curious." I tell her, feeling more than a little awkward.

She reaches for the pendant, turning it over and smoothing her thumb across the "E" engraved on the reverse—the side that used to lay against her skin, near her own heart.

"I haven't worn this in a long time," she murmurs.

I swallow, the sound loud to me. "No, I…I wouldn't think so."

She slides her arm through mine and pulls me close, looking up at me, her eyes soft and forgiving. And she smiles.

"I always thought it was pretty," she says. "And unique."

I nod. "I thought so."

"And I liked what it meant…that you were close even when you were far away."

She looks back at the necklace, biting her lip, and I see her flush slightly as she reaches out, lifting the chain from its pin. "Maybe…I might want to wear it again sometime?" She phrases it like a question and I realize she's unsure what I might think.

I give her a little smile and a shrug when she looks up at me uncertainly. "Yeah. You could."

She smiles softly, blushing even more. "Yeah?"

Now I'm grinning. She's so sweet. So cute. I don't know how I ever pushed this woman away. I wrap my arm around her shoulders. "Yeah."

She grins back at me and I tuck her closer into my side, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "Would we be going steady?"

She laughs, leaning into me. "You gave me this in the nineties, Edward, not the fifties."

I chuckle, running my hand up and back down her arm as she tucks the necklace into her pocket.

I'd like to kiss her until she's breathless, but we're not alone.

"I found the ASB page," Masen announces, speaking of the devil. "Edward Cullen…ASB president… Geez, look at you, Dad… Nice pea coat." He laughs and I mouth a 'thank you,' to Bella, rolling my eyes.

"Hey, it was a nice pea coat!" Bella laughs, rising to the defense of my erstwhile fashion choices.

"Just wait until you're my age, Mase. You'll realize just how cool you _weren't_ when you were your age."

"You can bring the yearbook downstairs to look at later, if you want," Bella tells him once he's done laughing. "We need to get your sheets in the wash, and I need to let Fitz out before we go on our bike ride."

*I*

After letting Fitz out, and putting Masen's new sheets into the washer, I step out the front door to see if Edward and Masen have the bikes ready. Our bikes are lined up on the driveway, but I don't see Edward or Masen. Then I hear voices and look over to see them in the yard next door, talking with Shelly Cope, and I walk over to join them.

I'm guessing Shelly just got back from the salon. Her hair is shorter and a new shade of red. She keeps it red but she always keeps it interesting.

"Hey, Shelly. Your hair looks great."

"Hi, Bella! Thank you." She smiles and reaches up, patting her short, somewhat pink, bouffant. "I was just chatting with your handsome visitors." Her blue eyes twinkle at me and I know exactly what she's thinking.

One evening weeks ago, I admitted to her that Edward Cullen was the "gentleman caller" who'd called while we were at the bowling alley. She told me she thought he was the most attractive and charming boy ever to walk the halls at Forks High—and Shelly worked there for decades. She also told me Edward's appearance had only improved with age, after spotting him coming and going from my house a couple times two months ago.

"I was just telling Masen how much he looks like his father did in high school," Shelly says. Somehow I manage to stifle my giggle. She's in her sixties, but like any woman with eyes in her head, she can still appreciate ridiculously attractive males of all ages.

"Masen _is_ a chip off the old block, isn't he?" I affirm. Then I turn to Masen. "Minus the pea coat, of course." He snorts a little laugh.

Edward elbows me. "_Old_ block?" He says it like he's offended, but he's got that half-smile thing going.

"It's just a saying," I laugh.

"So, you're off to Seattle together tomorrow." Shelly's eyes turn up the twinkle as she looks from Edward back to me. I already told her about my travel plans earlier in the week. She's just double-checking. And twinkling.

"That's right," I confirm. "And Sunday I fly to San Diego to see Mom and return on Thursday. Are you sure you won't mind picking up my mail and papers?"

"Not at all. And George and I will keep an eye on the house, too. Don't worry about a thing, Bella. You just have a lovely time." She turns to include Edward and Masen in her twinkly blue gaze.

"Well, I'd better let you all get on with your bike ride," she says. "If I don't see you again, have a wonderful time together in Seattle. Masen, it was very nice to meet you. Good luck at the university. And Edward, it was wonderful to see you again. Be sure and give your mom and dad my regards."

We say our thanks and goodbyes, but as I walk away with Edward's hand on the small of my back, I can still feel Shelly twinkling at us.

"It was nice to see Mrs. Cope," Edward remarks and I nod. And then I can't resist. Masen is far enough ahead that he won't hear what I'm about to say.

"Mrs. Cope thinks you're hot—hotter than you were in high school, even." Those weren't her exact words but he doesn't need to know that.

"What?!" He looks at me in disbelief. And maybe horror. And he's turning pink. Yes! It's just so satisfying when he's the victim of a blush, instead of me.

I nod, giggling. "She told me so. And she told me she always thought your dad was quite the hottie, too."

"Oh, God," Edward groans. "I'll never be able to look Mrs. Cope in the eyes again!"

*I*

We take off on our leisurely ride around Forks, passing some things Masen has already seen, like the high school, the Community Hospital where Carlisle worked and Edward volunteered, and the house where the Cullens used to live. The house looks the same, though it's now beige instead of white. Edward tells me his mom would cry if she knew her rose garden had been pulled up to make way for a parking space for an RV and a boat trailer.

When we approach the municipal airport I tell Masen I assume O'Hare Airport in Chicago is a bit larger than Forks Airport with its single runway. He laughs and tells me I'm right and Edward reminds me I'll see for myself when I come to Chicago in a couple weeks.

I smile at that. It's a nice reminder that we'll be seeing each other again very soon.

We ride past the Timber Museum and Masen wonders aloud that Forks would need a timber museum. All you have to do is step outside your door and see all the timber you could ever want, he says. Edward tells him the high school carpentry class built it a couple years before he graduated, though he never visited it. I never have either, so we decide to circle back and take a look.

We spend more time there than I would have expected, and it's more enjoyable than I would have thought. I'm sure that's partly due to the company I'm keeping. We comment on what we read about Forks, logging, and saw mill history, and while looking at equipment and artifacts of pioneer living, including a bunkhouse replica with a huge logging camp cook stove.

We continue our ride up Forks Ave, passing Newton's sporting goods store and the high school. When we get to Division Street, Edward points out the City Hall and the Police Station, telling Masen that's where my dad used to work.

We ride past Tillicum Park, as far as the Calawah River Bridge before turning around and heading back. We make a stop at The Cup and Saucer for a late afternoon caffeine pick-me-up and snack. Angela is already off for the day and we don't linger too long.

Masen leads the way back to my house from there. Edward is following him and I'm bringing up the rear…checking out Edward's rear. It's especially nice in old faded jeans. Until he looks over his shoulder and catches me, mid-ogle, contemplating the movement of his manly glutes. Naturally, I blush, and he slows for me to pedal up alongside him.

"What?" I ask, trying for innocence or at least nonchalance.

"That's what I was going to ask you. You're looking a little pink there, sweetie."

He's not buying it. He's smirking.

"I was just thinking it would be nice to ride alongside each other." I'm not just trying to deflect. I can't possibly ride behind him any longer and I'm sure as hell not going to ride in front of him, worrying he's watching my ass—which he probably already has done.

"Riding next to each other sounds good to me," he says. He's got a smug grin on his face but I ignore him.

Just as I'm starting to relax, he reaches out and pinches my butt. I squeal and swat his hand away and he's laughing. Hard. He's so proud of himself. The twinkle in his eyes beats Shelly Cope's by a landslide. He's annoying and beautiful and joyous and I'm embarrassed but I'm giggling. Masen looks back at us, probably thinking we sound like a couple of teenagers, so I wait until he faces forward again before reaching over to smack Edward's butt. He grabs my hand as we continue riding down Bogachiel Way. It's probably safer to hold hands the rest of the way home.

*I*

With one full bathroom, it's an assembly line of showers to get ready to out to dinner, once we get back to the house. I go first. Edward and Masen can just get in and out of the shower, throw on clothes, and look perfect, but I'll have to dry my hair and put on a little make-up, in addition to showering and deliberating what to wear.

Once I'm done in the shower, I put on my robe, wrap my hair in my towel, and exit the bathroom with my brush and blow-dryer in hand. I can't hear them downstairs but then I hear barking and laughter coming from outside. Crossing over to the window, I see them down in the backyard, throwing a tennis ball and chasing my nut-dog. I smile and watch for a minute before opening the window and calling down to them.

"The bathroom's free. Who's next?"

They look up and smile, trade a few words, and then Edward heads to the house as Masen lobs the ball into the far corner and Fitz takes off like a shot.

By the time I exit my bedroom, dressed in jeans, a white eyelet top, and carrying my lavender cardigan for later, Edward is just coming out of the guestroom. He's showered, shaved and wearing dark jeans and a polo shirt—navy with white stripes. We head downstairs and he steps outside to let Masen know he's up next to shower.

As Masen heads upstairs, I offer Edward a glass of wine before dinner. He accepts and we take our glasses out to the porch. Fitz is sprawled out, resting, post-play and Edward takes my hand as we step around him. We take our seats on the porch swing and Edward loops his arm around me, smiling as he nudges me closer. I lean into his side and we sip our wine. We're comfortably quiet, just enjoying each other's proximity, sipping at our wine.

"This is nice," he says.

"It's a red blend," I tell him, looking up. He grins.

"Well, the wine _is_ nice, but that wasn't what I was referring to." He softly strokes my upper arm with his fingertips.

"Oh." I laugh. "Yeah. This is nice. This is really nice." I rest my head on his shoulder and he sets his glass on the table next to him, stretching his long legs out and exhaling a soft sigh.

I think about the day he's had. He was up before the crack of dawn and he's been in three airports and on two flights just to get here. We ate brunch and shopped in Port Angeles, then he drove us back here, packed up Masen's truck, readied our bicycles, and we rode all around Forks.

"You've had a busy day," I remark, resting my arm on his leg and patting him.

His free hand covers mine. "I've had a really _good_ day."

I smile up at those sparkly green eyes. "Yeah?"

"Mmm-hmm. The best day I've had in a long time," he murmurs, his smile shifting, growing more serious and delicious. The sparkle in his eyes softens and the color deepens and heats.

My heartbeat quickens as the butterflies take flight in my stomach. "Same here."

"Yeah?" he asks, as his eyes drop to my mouth.

"Yeah."

Knuckles ghost down my cheek, fingertips lift my chin as he leans in, and I sigh as his mouth moves over mine. Lips meet, mouths open, and tongues taste and delve. His kiss is the perfect kiss. The kiss by which all others have been measured and found lacking. I touch his smooth, cheek and pull him close, and he responds with a soft moan. He wraps himself more completely around me, cradling my head in his hand, and I thread my fingers up into his hair.

This is beyond good. It's always been beyond good. I don't want this to end. And just as I think that, we hear Masen's voice inside the house.

"Hey, Dad?!"

"Fuck," Edward exhales against my lips. His eyes blink and flutter to mine as he pulls away. His mouth looks worked over and he's flushed and sexy and divine as he takes a deep breath and lets it out in a whoosh.

We are so busted.

I quickly smooth my hair and clothing as he tugs his shirt over his lap and picks up his wineglass, holding it in the same general lap-vicinity. I bite back a giggle, but there's no putting a halt to my blush. Then I notice Edward's hair is screwed up where I ran my fingers through it.

"We're out on the porch!" he calls back to Masen as I smooth his hair into place.

He looks over at me with a wink and a crooked smile. "Just act natural," he whispers and I giggle.

The kitchen door opens not two seconds later, and Masen steps out, showered, changed, and barefoot. I take a sip of wine, hiding behind my glass as Masen tells Edward he doesn't have any clean socks.

"You didn't bring _socks_?" Edward asks, sounding exactly like a father.

"They're in one of the suitcases in the truck. I can't believe I didn't put any in my carry-on."

I inspect my wine, refusing to meet Masen's eyes. Thank goodness he's preoccupied with his own dilemma and doesn't seem to have noticed ours.

Edward glances at his watch. "Just grab a pair from my bag. We'll be leaving for dinner shortly."

Masen nods and disappears back inside and Edward and I exchange a grin and a sigh of relief.

He stands and offers me a hand up, pulling me into his arms. He looks down with a soft smile and the faint flicker of smoldering warmth in his eyes.

"You know…when you come to Chicago…it'll just be the two of us."

I smile and blush at the implication. "I don't mind this at all," I tell him honestly. Then I stretch up on my toes and give him a quick kiss. "But I certainly won't mind that, either."

"Good to know," he says with a sexy grin.

* * *

**AN: Hope you liked it and will share your thoughts. **


	30. A Double-Date with Progeny

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay and any review-replies I missed. This chapter was written in fits and starts around some real highs and lows: a 30th anniversary laptop-free week in Hawaii, followed by the unexpected death of Mr. bannerday's sweet, 92-year-old mother. It was a different December, that's for sure. I just hope you're still out there?

* * *

**Chapter 30: A Double-Date with Progeny**

I scope out the parking lot when we arrive shortly before six-thirty. We're meeting the Cheneys for dinner, but I don't see Angela's white mini-van or Ben's green Ford Explorer, so it looks like we got here first.

As I pull into a space and park, I wonder what Edward is thinking.

Masen was here two months ago, before going to the bonfire at First Beach with Bree and her cousins, but Edward hasn't been to the old hang-out in twenty years. I suspect he was avoiding the place on his last trip, just like he avoided the crowd at the cemetery and at the house, on the day of Dad's funeral. I think he was unsure what to expect if he ran into old friends with their inevitable questions.

So far, only Angela, Ben and the Copes know Edward and I have reconnected. I wasn't ready to share that with others until I knew where this was going. But Edward and I are seeing each other—in person when possible, and online in between. Tonight it's likely we'll run into old friends and acquaintances at the Forks Diner, so I guess we're "coming out."

If we're not already a topic of conversation, after being out and about on our bikes this afternoon, I'm sure we will be before long. Forks is a small town and word gets around.

"Ready?" I quirk a brow at Edward as I turn off the engine.

"Are you?" He cocks an uncertain eyebrow back at me. I know he still feels badly about the past, but I'd rather focus on the present. I still miss my dad, but in many respects I'm happier than I've been in a very long time, and Edward is a very big part of that.

"Yes, I am," I say with conviction. I'm glad he's here. And I'm happy to be with him and be seen with him. Besides, I'll be visiting him on his own turf soon and I know Edward well enough to know that wasn't a spur of the moment invitation.

I take his hand as we walk to the diner's entrance with Masen. Halfway there, a car horn honks behind us, and turning, we see a green Ford Explorer pulling into the lot.

"There they are." I wave at Ben. He's smiling from ear to ear and Angela is waving and grinning. Andy and Beth are in the backseat, looking curiously at my companions. Beth's mouth is hanging open but she manages a little wave. Andy doesn't. At thirteen, he has to be concerned about his public image. Waving at his parents' friends out in public probably isn't very cool.

It's a family affair tonight. Sort of. Close enough. A double-date with progeny.

The diner's clientele always gets younger as the evening wears on. We've arrived at the end of the early-bird dinner hour, so retirees and grandparents, armed with grandbabies or photos of grandbabies, have mostly come and gone. Now it's the family hour, drawing parents with their children after the workday. The later portion of the evening belongs to the younger date-night couples and teen crowd, just hanging out together on a Friday night.

We walk over to meet the Cheneys at their car.

"Cullen!" Ben exclaims, still grinning as he climbs out on the side closest to us.

"Cheney!" Edward responds with a chuckle.

Ben shepherds the kids out on his side as Angela comes around, and we meet them behind their car to exchange hellos. I greet Andy and Beth while Ben and Edward do the handshake-one-armed hug thing.

"It's great to see you, Edward!" Ben says, clapping Edward on the back.

Edward nods, grinning at him. "You too, Ben."

"This is just awesome," Angela says, her shining eyes looking from Edward to me as she darts in to give us both hugs. She knows we've been looking forward to this weekend for a while.

"Welcome back, Masen," she says with a smile. "How does it feel to be done with high school?"

He grins. "It feels pretty great, thanks." He turns as Edward introduces him to Ben.

"I saw a photo, but holy mackerel, you really are the spitting image of your dad! It's nice to meet you, Masen."

Masen smiles, shaking Ben's hand. "It's nice to meet you, too."

"This is Beth," Angela says, introducing her eleven-year-old daughter.

They both tell her hi and Masen gives her a little wave. Beth blushes, mumbling a shy hello.

"And this is Andy," Ben says.

They say hello and Masen adds a head-nod.

Andy replies in kind, with a cool-guy head-nod for Masen.

We spend a couple minutes chatting, until Angela says we'd better get inside before we lose our reservation.

"You made a _reservation_?! At the _diner_?" I laugh as we walk to the door.

"Hey, I've got some pull in this town!" Angela says with a laugh.

Ben gets the door and we all crowd inside. I scan the room as a few heads turn our way, and I notice a few faces Edward would probably recognize.

"Hi, guys!" Cora calls out from behind the counter, where she's making a fresh pot of coffee. "You got your big old booth." She nods toward the back as Amber scoots past her with a tray of drinks and a smile in our direction.

"Thanks for keeping the poachers away," Angela calls back.

"I thought we'd sit back there for old time's sake," she says, turning to us.

"That's great," Edward chuckles.

"We used to always sit at the big booth in the back with our friends," I tell Masen. "It fits about eight adults…or a dozen high school kids, packed in like sardines."

Masen smiles. "That sounds familiar." He look back at his dad and then at Ben and Angela and I wonder if he's trying to imagine our younger selves doing the same things he and his friends must do.

We've barely moved out of the entryway when someone says, "Edward_ Cullen_?"

"Hey, Doctor G!" Edward exclaims, reaching out to shake hands with his father's former colleague. Doctor Gerandy is here with his wife, their son, Tom, and his wife and toddler. We exchange hellos and a couple introductions. Edward remembers Tom as ten-year-old "Tommy," occasionally visiting his dad back when Edward volunteered at the hospital.

Doctor Gerandy asks after Edward's parents. He tells him they're well and still living in Chicago and he explains that he's here to visit me and get Masen settled at school. Dr. Gerandy is surprised to learn Edward went into law, but pleased to hear Masen hopes to follow in his grandfather's footsteps. He tells Edward to give his parents their regards, and we say our goodbyes.

Halfway to our booth, we're stopped once again.

"¡Dios mío! ¿_Eduardo_?"

It's Nettie Goff, from Angela's Monday night bowling league, sharing a slice of cake with her husband. More importantly though, it's _Señora_ Goff, from our Forks High Spanish classes.

Poor Edward. Nettie is retired, but she remembers the names and faces of all her former students. And she likes to see if they remember their high school Spanish. And she's got that pop-quiz glint in her eyes right now.

Edward chuckles, clearly caught off guard, but he rises to the challenge. "Sí. Hola, Señora Goff. ¿Cómo está usted?"

Nettie beams at him. "¡Muy bien, Eduardo! Muy bien. ¿Y tú?"

Edward smiles. "Bien, gracias."

"¿Qué haces en Forks?" Nettie asks, smiling from Edward to me and back.

Edward's face goes blank.

"She wants to know what you're doing in Forks," Masen murmurs, elbowing his father.

"Oh, yeah. Uh… Nosotros…" He gestures from Masen to himself. "Visitamos a Bella." He shoots me a grin, proud he remembered how to say they're visiting me.

"Ah. ¡Qué interesante!" Nettie smiles and gives me a knowing look. I think she just figured out the identity of my gentleman caller from a few weeks ago at bowling.

Angela is laughing into her hand. I grin and give her a shove.

Nettie smiles at Masen. "¿Y quién es este muchacho muy guapo?"

I can see the lightbulb go on in Edward's head. He knows she's asking who the handsome boy is.

"Es mi…" Edward hesitates, frowning.

"Hijo," Masen prompts in a low voice.

"Oh, right. Señora Goff…uh, permitame…presentarle…a mi hijo, Masen."

Nettie claps, she's so impressed. "Well done, Mr. Cullen!"

Edward heaves a sigh of relief and chuckles, glad the quiz is over. "I haven't had to do that in a while," he admits.

"Mrs. Goff was our high school Spanish teacher," I tell Masen.

"I kind of got that feeling." He grins at me and then Nettie.

"Nice to meet you," he tells her.

Nettie smiles and gives him a little nod. "Mucho gusto, Masen. It sounds like you know some Spanish too."

Masen nods. "I took four years in high school."

"¡Excelente! I'll bet you take after your father—he was one of my best students. You should make him practice more so he doesn't get rusty." She smiles from Masen to Edward.

"Well, I don't want to keep all of you from your dinner," she tells us. "I just couldn't resist, when I recognized Edward. You all have a good evening. It was very nice to see you, Edward."

"You, too, Mrs. Goff," Edward replies, and Nettie gives us a little wave, excusing us to get to our own table.

We're nearly there, when Edward gets flagged down by Tyler Crowley and Austin Marks, sitting a few tables away. Edward played sports with them in high school and they look understandably surprised to see him. Tyler and Austin are here with their families and I'm sure Edward recognizes Lauren and Katie from my class, too.

Edward looks at us apologetically. "Why don't you go ahead? I'll be there in a minute."

"Take your time," I tell him, patting his arm. "We're fine."

I get his drink order and Masen's, and with a wave to the Crowleys and Marks, we make our way to our booth, while Edward takes Masen over to say hi.

"I had no idea it would be quite like this," I say as I slide into the booth opposite Angela, Ben, and the kids.

Ben smiles warmly. "We don't mind. Edward has some catching up to do."

"Yeah, I think this is good for him, Swan, you know?"

I nod at Angela's words. I'd told her I thought Edward felt awkward about running into old acquaintances. We decided it might be best to just throw him into the deep end of the pool and let him sink or swim.

Hearing Edward's laughter, I look over. He's definitely swimming. He's smiling and nodding at something Tyler is saying. And then Edward is speaking, gesturing in our direction and glancing over at me with a smile. The Crowleys and Marks look over, smiling too.

Cora comes by and we order drinks and two baskets of fries—cheese and regular. When she leaves, I go back to watching Edward and I smile. He seems completely at ease, talking with old friends. Choosing the diner as our double-date destination was probably a good decision.

"So…Bella…How has today been?"

I turn back to Angela. Her eyes are sparkly and she's having a hard time containing her smile. I'm sure she's dying to know what's gone on between Edward and me since I picked them up this morning, but she's trying to be discreet in front of the kids. I glance at Ben. Same sparkle. Same smile. They're two peas in a pod. But I'm having a hard time containing my own smile and I think my eyes have gone over to the sparkly side as well. There's a good chance I'm blushing, too.

"Today has been great. Really great," I tell her. And Ben.

"Are you talking about Edward?" Beth asks. So much for being discreet.

Andy rolls his eyes at his younger, less-knowledgeable sister. "Well, obviously, Beth."

Angela turns to give Andy the Eyebrow of Doom.

"Sorry!" he huffs.

But The Eyebrow isn't satisfied. The Eyebrow wants more. And The Eyebrow always gets its way.

Andy sighs in resignation. "I'm sorry, Beth."

"S'okay," Beth seems less interested in hearing his apology than she is in waiting for my response.

"I _was_ talking about Edward. And his son, of course," I tell her with a smile. "We've done a lot today and everything has gone really well. It's been great."

I think that was good enough for Beth, but looking at Angela, I can tell she wants more.

Pursing her lips and quirking a brow, I get the distinct feeling she's covertly inquiring if there's been any kissing she should know about. I smile and nod slightly, and her smile widens, telling me I read her expression correctly. Smiling more widely, and slowly raising both eyebrows, she's wondering how that went. I nod more enthusiastically and we both dissolve into giggles.

Maybe we're behaving like a couple of high school girls because we're sitting at this old table. But luckily, Edward and Masen join us then, forcing us to act like adults.

"Bella, why don't you scoot out and let Masen slide in first?" Edward asks. His eyes flicker to Andy and Beth and he smiles. I realize he's thinking Masen might engage them if he sits opposite them. I scoot out and Masen scoots in, fine with us making the switch.

"Your fries will be up shortly and I'll be right back to take your orders," Cora tells us when she drops off our drinks.

Andy passes out the menus from the end of the table, though most of us can probably recite the menu by heart.

"Hmm… What do I feel like having?" Edward murmurs. His menu is open but he's side-eyeing me with that crooked little smile of his. I laugh, realizing this is a test, and I know exactly what he's going to order, here at the Forks Diner.

I grasp his arm in several places as I give him a thoughtful expression. "Hmm… It _feels_ like you're going to have a cheeseburger…extra _goopy_, maybe?"

He grins as he closes his menu. "Yep. Same old, same old. What about you?"

"Same old, same old," I tell him, and he laughs outright.

"Some things never change," he says, stretching his arm out along the top of the booth behind me. When I feel his hand on my shoulder, I reach over and put my hand on the top of his leg.

Across the table, I think Angela wants to hug somebody.

"So, I hear congratulations are in order," Ben says, smiling at Masen. He leans forward, looking down to Andy and Beth. "Masen just graduated from high school," he explains.

They nod and mumble additional congratulations to Masen.

Masen smiles. "Thanks. Yeah, it was just a couple days ago. It's weird thinking I won't have to go back."

"Andy is just going to be starting high school in the fall," I tell him.

"Oh yeah? You looking forward to it?" Masen asks, looking across at Andy.

Andy shrugs. "Kind of, I guess."

Masen smiles at him. "I remember thinking starting high school sounded kind of scary. But it was a lot of fun. There's so much you can do, like clubs, music, sports teams…"

"Did you play sports?" Andy asks.

And that's enough to get the ball rolling between them. I hear baseball and soccer and Andy is into both.

"Will you be in junior high, Beth?" Edward asks.

She shakes her head. "Sixth grade," she says shyly.

"Really? I figured you were older—closer to your brother's age."

Beth beams at him. It's a good thing Andy's not listening. He'd just get in trouble for another disparaging eye-roll.

"Beth just turned eleven," Angela says, smiling at Beth and smoothing her hair over her shoulder.

"But she takes after her mother in the height-department," Ben adds, shooting his daughter a wink and a smile.

Cora returns with our baskets of fries and takes our dinner orders. Angela and Ben decide on cheeseburgers with extra onions, but only after agreeing to have onion breath together. Beth wants a grilled cheese sandwich, Andy is having a chili-dog, and Masen orders a patty melt. After I ask for my usual extra-goopy cheeseburger—no onions, extra secret sauce, and an extra slice of tomato—Edward tells Cora he'll have the same.

"So, what did you guys do, after Bella picked you up this morning?" Ben asks us.

Angela flashes me a smirk as she pops a fry into her mouth. I shake my head. Like she's going to hear anything risqué.

"We had breakfast at a nice little café in Port Angeles," Edward says. "After that we hit Walmart for a college dorm shopping expedition for Masen," Edward tells him.

"Where did you have breakfast?" Angela asks me.

"_Great Eggspectations_. Do you remember that place?" She nods. We've eaten there once or twice.

"That Dutch Baby we ate was so good!" Masen says to me.

Andy and Beth look confused. Actually, Beth looks a little horrified.

Edward chuckles at their reactions. "It's just a big, puffy pancake," he tells them, giving Masen's shoulder a little smack.

"Sorry," Masen laughs. "It _is_ a kind of pancake, but that's what they're called. Right?" He looks at me.

I nod. "That's what they're called."

Once we explain it better, both Andy and Beth want Angela to try making one. I tell her I have a recipe I can give her—Shelly Cope used to make them all the time when I was little.

We tell them we went for a bike ride once we got back to Forks, and that we stopped at the Timber Museum. Masen says he thought it was pretty cool. Beth tells him her class took a field trip there this year and Andy says the chainsaw collection is awesome. Beth looks at him like he's crazy, but Masen agrees with Andy.

"I thought about you, when we rode past the Community Church," Edward tells Ben. "It must have felt a little strange, taking over the reins from Angela's dad when he decided to retire."

"Yeah, that was something, becoming pastor at the same church I attended since I was a kid. But it was a pretty smooth transition, and Jonathan still performs some services—like he did for Charlie." Ben gives me a soft smile when he mentions Dad.

"I guess there's somewhat of a sense of continuity for the community, since you married the former pastor's daughter," Edward observes, smiling at Angela.

"Well, hopefully nobody thinks I married Angie just to get to her father's congregation," Ben says with a chuckle. "But I do enjoy tending to the Forks flock. I've known most of the congregation all my life."

As we've been talking, I realize the boys have made the leap from the Timber Museum's chainsaw display to some videogame I'm not familiar with, and Beth has begun doodling on her placemat. She likes art and seems to take after Ben's mom, who is something of a local artist, but I'm hoping she doesn't feel left out.

"Draw me something," I say in a low voice as I lean forward and pick up a couple fries.

She looks up from her doodling. "Like what?"

I smile and shrug. Then I lean back, surreptitiously glancing to my left and then to my right, indicating Masen and Edward. And then I wink at her.

"Okay," she grins, glancing at Edward and Masen before leaning in and starting on her stealth mission.

"Angela is a big help," Ben is saying as he looks at her fondly. "She knows what working at the church entails and she always helps with organizing church-sponsored events. She does a terrific job of getting people to help, donate, or contribute in some way. I just don't how she manages it all, helping out, taking care of the kids, and running The Cup and Saucer on the side.

"It's all the caffeine," Angela says. "That helps me accomplish _a lot_."

"You should see Mom when she's all jittery," Andy offers, suddenly joining the conversation. We laugh when Beth silently nods in agreement.

Conversation halts as our dinners arrive. Beth covers her artwork with her hand before quickly hiding it with her plate. Once meals are in place, conversation resumes.

"So, Edward… Angela told me you work for the State's Attorney's office in Chicago. What is it you do, exactly?" Ben asks.

As we eat, Edward explains his job with the Victims and Witness Assistance Program. He also explains how he made the transition to that division after the assault on Carlisle years ago. He's careful about what he says in front of Beth, but Ben and Angela get it.

"That sounds rewarding, Edward," Ben says. "Giving people hope and direction when their lives have been touched by crime…helping them make sense of things and move forward."

"It is," Edward agrees, nodding.

"I think it must be hard, too," I say, looking at Edward. "Knowing what some of those people have been through."

"Yeah, Dad doesn't like to talk much about his cases," Masen volunteers.

"Well, that's understandable," Angela says. "I'm sure things can be pretty ugly sometimes."

Edward nods once again. "Yeah, you're definitely right about that. But one thing I'll say is that it really makes you appreciate what you have."

"Give me a small town any day," Angela says. "When you read the Police Blotter in the Forks Forum, you rarely see violent crimes listed."

"Speaking of the Forum…" Ben says, "When do you start working there, Bella?"

"First week in July. And thank goodness—I'm still trying to come up with my own column. I'll continue Liam's historical column but I wanted to add something new."

"Did you get a chance to take a poll on Monday?" Edward asks. He's referring to the women's bowling league. While talking on the phone last weekend, he'd suggested I ask them what they thought the Forum was lacking, compared to bigger newspapers.

"I did ask them, but I guess I forgot to tell you. It didn't really help me very much."

"What did they say?" he asks.

"Well, let's see…" I pull my phone out of my purse, checking the tally I made during my rather unscientific survey.

"Three said puzzles—like crosswords or Sudoku, and four wanted gardening tips. But neither of those things belong on a community focus page, and gardening tips would feel too much like the household-tips column I wrote at the Peninsula Daily News." I look back at my phone. "Five mentioned an advice column, but I would never dare attempt that. I'd probably ruin someone's life."

They all laugh, but I'm dead serious.

"And a whopping sixteen women mentioned food—like restaurant reviews or recipes. But Forks doesn't have many restaurants and everyone already knows the foods they serve, so that wouldn't be very newsworthy."

"What about recipes?" Masen asks. "That lasagna you made was killer."

"I know, right?!" Andy exclaims. Beth nods. So do Angela and Ben. The Cheneys are huge fans. So are the Cullens, apparently, because Edward and Masen have joined the nodding.

"I feel like I'm sitting with a boothful of bobble-heads," I tell them. They laugh and quit their nodding.

"I can't do a recipe column. That wouldn't belong on a community focus page. And I may have _some_ really good recipes, but most of them aren't even my own. Most of them have been collected from friends…and neighbors…" A thought begins forming in my mind as I turn to look at Edward.

"There you go…" he says. "You showcase some resident's favorite recipe…"

"And I write a little article about the person…" I say, nodding.

He nods back at me. "Maybe tell where they got the recipe, or memories they associate with it."

"I'd be focusing on the community by spotlighting neighbors, and giving readers a food column at the same time."

"You could do a different food category each month," Angela offers.

"Or focus on up-coming holidays," Ben suggests.

"Like dessert for Valentine's Day!" Beth exclaims.

"I just hope there's a pizza month," Andy says and Masen laughs, nodding.

"In the very first column, you could introduce yourself as the new Focus on Forks writer, and feature your own lasagna recipe to start things off," Edward suggests.

"That's a great idea. You guys, these are all great ideas. Now all I need is a title for the column." I look around the table. "Any suggestions?"

Beth shakes her head and shrugs.

"Uh…_Made in Forks_?" Edward says.

"Or maybe _Forks Flavorites_?" Ben says with a chuckle.

"_Love Bites from Forks_?" Angela suggests with a twinkle in her eye…and that one-track mind of hers.

"How about just plain old _Forks Bites_?" Andy suggests, laughing at his own wit, but we're all laughing at that one.

"Your page is called _Focus on Forks_, right?" Masen asks and I nod. "How about _Focus on Forkfuls_?"

"Oh, I like that! That ties in nicely, you smart, almost-in-college boy." He grins at my reaction.

I finish making a list on my phone of the titles they suggested, just as Cora comes by to clear our plates. Andy tilts his head, looking at Beth's placemat, and I realize her artwork has just been discovered.

"You _drew_ them, Beth?!" he asks.

Beth's eyes widen and she slaps her hand down over the picture, but it's too late. Andy saw it and now he's trying to pry her hand away.

Beth laughs, turning pink as she struggles. "Aunt Bella told me to!" she yelps as Andy snatches the placemat away.

Andy holds it up, looking at it, laughing. "That's pretty good, Bethy!" He lays it back down on the table, spinning it around so we can see. It _is_ a pretty good likeness of Edward and Masen, and that's definitely me in the middle.

"That's a terrible picture," Masen tells Beth, but he's smiling, teasing her. "We're not sparkly. And our hair isn't blue. Why would you make us sparkly and give us blue hair?"

Beth is giggling at him. "It's the only pen I had!" she laughs, holding up her sparkly blue pen for proof.

"Just ignore him, Beth," Edward says, smiling at her. "Mase knows nothing about art. This is really good."

She smiles at his compliment. "Do you want it?" she asks shyly and he grins at her.

"I'd love to have it," he tells her.

"You'd better sign it, in case you're a famous artist someday, like your grandma," I tell her.

She grins and signs it and then slides it across to Edward.

He folds it, careful to avoid creasing the drawing, then he tucks it into his shirt pocket. He's so sweet about it, I'd like to grab him and kiss him.

Angela would probably think that was awesome.

Cora stops by to check on us. "You folks want some dessert tonight?"

"Ice cream!" Beth cries, no longer as shy as when the meal began.

"They have the _best_ sundaes," Andy tells Masen.

"Can I get a banana split?" he asks his parents. They look at each other and then us. We all shrug. Who complains about having dessert?

"I guess we'll be having dessert." Ben smiles up at Cora.

"I'll have a strawberry Sunday," Beth pipes up.

"And I'll have a banana split," Andy reiterates.

"Make it two," Masen says, sticking his arm out for Andy to give him a fist-bump. Which he does.

"Ben and I will just share a hot-fudge brownie sundae," Angela tells Cora.

She nods, jotting things down. "How about you, Bella?"

I look up at Edward, giving him a hopeful smile, and he breaks into that crooked grin. "It looks like we're going to split the hot fudge brownie sundae, too," he tells Cora.

Angela smirks at us as she puts her fist out, nudging Ben to follow suit. Edward and I give them a fist-bump. Masen laughs and Andy tells us we are "so not cool."

"Oh, my god!" a voice suddenly shrieks and we all turn and look toward the entrance.

"It's the Newtons," Andy announces unnecessarily, as Jessica barrels up the aisle in our direction. It takes Mike a moment to catch on to what's happening, but he follows her, and their boys, Matt and Kevin, trail along behind him.

"Oh, my god! Edward! What are you doing here?!" Jessica cries as she reaches us. "Oh my god! I saw _this_ guy," she gestures at Masen, "And I thought _'That's Edward Cullen!'_ But then I realized that couldn't _possibly_ be you! And then I saw _you_! And I knew _you_ were _you_! What the heck are you doing here?!" Her wide eyes travel from him to me, Angela, and Ben, as if we should all be equally as shocked to see Edward sitting amongst us.

"Hey, guys!" Mike says, greeting us before Edward can answer Jess' question. "How's it going, Sport?" Mike asks as he extends his arm past Jessica to shake Edward's hand.

My gaze flickers to Angela's. Mike has been addressing males as "_Sport_" ever since he got the head coaching job at the high school. Angela and I find it annoying. It's like he suddenly can't remember anyone's names, but wants everyone to remember he's the head coach.

"I'm doing well, thanks," Edward tells Mike. "How about the two of you?" he asks, including Jessica.

"Can't complain," Mike says before Jess can get a word in edgewise. "I'm teaching and coaching up at the high school now." He crosses his arms over his chest, getting kind of puffed up as he continues. "Coach Clapp stepped down as head coach a couple years ago and I stepped in. He's still the athletic director, but he'll be retiring in a few years, so that position will eventually open up. Meanwhile, I'm the head football coach _and_ head baseball coach. Of course, I also teach a few P.E. classes, but, yeah…things are great. And Jess is still working at the store for my folks. She's the assistant manager and she keeps the books straight."

"Yeah? That's grea…" Edward doesn't get to finish. Jess butts in, having hit her breaking point listening to Mike's ramble.

"So, _what_ are you doing in Forks, Edward?!" Her eyes dart from Edward to me to Masen and back to Edward, trying to figure this thing out, wondering why I'm sandwiched between twins of disparate ages.

Edward smiles. "I'm here to see Bella. And…" He turns, reaching across behind me to grasp Masen's shoulder. "This is my son, Masen. He's starting at U-Dub this summer, so I'm out here from Chicago to get him settled, as well."

With her stellar accounting skills, I'm sure Jess is doing the math, realizing Edward must have been quite young when he became a father. Not as young as she thought, once upon a time. Her theory that he had an illegitimate child at the age of fifteen was nonsense. Edward didn't give it up until the summer before he left for college. I know that for a fact.

"Wow, so you've got a college kid already, huh?" Mike says to Edward. And then he addresses Masen. "Nice to meet you, Sport." He gives Masen a wave as he continues speaking. "We've got two boys of our own…this is Matt and that's Kevin."

I'm surprised he didn't call them Sport and Sport.

"They're the same ages as Andy and Beth," Ben interjects.

"Same grades, too," Angela adds.

I can see Jessica is still studying the scene for clues. I noticed her cocking her head, trying to get a better look at the signet ring on Edward's left hand. She's probably trying to decide if it's a wedding ring, especially since that hand is now resting on my shoulder. Her eyes meet mine and I smile sweetly. Maybe I'm mean, but I enjoy seeing her grasping for gossip and not getting any solid leads.

"How long you gonna be in town?" Mike asks Edward. "Maybe we can get together."

"Sorry, Mike," Edward tells him. "Masen, Bella and I are leaving for Seattle tomorrow morning, and I'll be heading back to Chicago from there on Wednesday. But maybe next time?" He squeezes my shoulder, glancing my way, and I smile. He's already thinking about returning to Forks and I haven't even made it to Chicago yet.

Mike smiles, "Sure, next time sounds…"

"Is the _rest_ of your family in Chicago?" Jessica interrupts, still trying to get to the bottom of this.

Edward nods. "Yeah. My dad's still working but my mom keeps trying to get him to retire." He smiles at her and Mike.

Jessica just looks frustrated. I doubt she was referring to Carlisle and Esme when she asked about Edward's family. And I'm pretty sure Edward knew that.

"Excuse me, folks." It's Cora, back with our sundaes.

Mike steps to the side to give her room, pulling Jessica and the boys out of the way.

"Well, we'll let you guys enjoy your dessert," Mike says. "We just stopped in to do the same. Catch you next time, Sport." Thank goodness he does that finger-gun-thing at Edward, so we can tell which _"Sport"_ he's addressing. There are four possibilities at our table.

"Sure thing, Mike," Edward replies.

We give them an assortment of waves and goodbyes and they head for a booth across the room, stopping to say hi to the Crowley and Marks families.

Edward, Angela, Ben and I exchange a look. I'm pretty sure we're all thinking the same thing.

"Well...Mike and Jessica seem the same," Edward remarks, reading our minds and voicing our thoughts, it seems, as we stifle our laughs and start on our sundaes.

"I think _someone's_ going to be getting a phone call tomorrow," Angela says cryptically, though she's looking at me, because of course, Jessica will be wanting answers.

"Well, _someone's_ not going to be home for six days and thankfully, _someone_ doesn't have my cell phone number," I reply with a smile.

Edward leans closer, whispering to me, though his voice is loud enough for Angela to hear. "I bet you anything _someone_ shows up at The Cup and Saucer tomorrow for a little coffee Q and A with Angela," he says, smirking at her.

Angela points her spoon at Edward. "Remember that photo I took of you guys the last time you visited? The one I texted you?" Edward nods, waiting to see where this is going. "I could pass _your_ cell phone number along to _someone_, so you'd better stay on my good side…_Sport_."

Edward bursts into laughter.

We finish our sundaes and finish visiting, talking about the trip to Seattle tomorrow and some things we might try to do while we're there—or that Edward and Masen might do once I leave for San Diego.

When Cora brings our bill, Ben snatches it right up. Edward protests but Ben says he can get it next time. It hits Edward what Ben is actually saying, and he smiles. At Ben. And Angela. And me.

"I will definitely do that," he tells us. "Next time is on me."

When we get up to follow Ben, Angela and the kids out, Edward catches my arm to let Masen go ahead of us. Bringing up the tail-end of our little parade, Edward waves a goodnight to the Newtons and then wraps his arm around me.

I look up at him and laugh. "Are you trying to drive _someone_ even battier?"

He looks down at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Possibly. Just don't tell Angela." And with that, he smiles crookedly and tugs me closer, keeping me tucked into his side, even after we're out in the parking lot.

*I*

A short while later, Edward and I are on the front lawn back at the house, while Masen is inside somewhere, making an important ten o'clock phone call. We've already said our goodbyes, but Edward and I linger to wave goodnight as Ben backs his car out of the driveway.

They followed us home to collect Fitz and his doggy-accoutrement, since Fitz will be staying at the Casa de Cheney Resort and Spa for the next six nights. When Angela offered, I accepted. He'll be happier at their house, with Andy and Beth to keep him busy, than he would have been at the kennel. And he's stayed with them before, though not for this many days. But Angela and Ben have been talking about getting a dog if the kids are willing to help take care of one, so they'll see how this week goes with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy as their starter-kit.

"You okay?" Edward asks, looking down at me as he strokes my arm in the chilly night air as the Cheneys depart with Fitz.

"Yeah, I'm good. He'll be fine. And he's easy."

We head back to the house, arm in arm.

It seems so quiet after the busy day we've had.

We've hardly spent any time together alone—just a few stolen kisses at the airport and on the back porch before dinner.

As we near the front steps, it occurs to me how late it must to Edward. With the time difference and their early departure this morning, it must feel like one or two a.m.

"Are you tired?" I ask as we start up the steps.

He stops, tugging on my hand, turning me to face him. Standing a step down from me, though still a little taller, his arms slide around my waist, pulling me close as I link my arms around his neck and smile at him.

"I guess that depends," he finally says, his voice soft and low.

"On what?"

He kisses me on the forehead. And then the nose. And the lips. And then he smiles that crooked smile.

"On you."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the family dinner hour. Pack your jammies, pillows and sleeping bags for a slumber party at Bella's next chapter. And maybe review and let me know you're still there? xo**


	31. In the Time Capsule

**Indelible**

**A/N: **I promise I won't abandon you or this story. This chapter wouldn't cooperate until two days ago, so the delay is the chapter's fault, not mine. :) But I like this and I hope you do too.

* * *

**Chapter 31: In the Time Capsule**

With Masen inside, and the Cheneys just having driven off, Edward and I remain on the front steps, stealing a quiet embrace and a few moments alone after our busy day. I just asked him if he was tired, but he turned it around, saying it depended upon me. I'm smiling at him now. His non-answer says a lot, I think.

His face nearly glows in the soft light from the porch, and I slip one arm down from around his neck to cup his cheek in my hand. His skin is cool against my palm in the night air, and smooth still from his pre-dinner shave.

"_You_ feeling tired or not, depends upon _me_?" I quirk a brow at him and he reaches up, covering my hand with his, exhaling a soft little snort, gracing me with that boyish, crooked smile. I think maybe I detect a slight flush in his features, though it's hard to tell in this light.

"I'd just rather not waste time on sleep if you're not sleepy," he murmurs, confirming my suspicion that he feels as I do—unwilling for the evening to end.

"I'm not the one who's twenty hours into his day," I remind him, stroking the fingers of my other hand through the soft, short hair at the nape of his neck. He smiles, pulling our clasped hands down to his chest, and closes his eyes, tipping his head into the sensation. He hums in pleasure as I reach higher, scratching his scalp lightly, and I can't decide what's more appealing—that low sound in the back of his throat, or the stretch of exposed neck and soft underside of strong jaw.

He tips his head back down to me after a moment, smiling before he even opens his eyes. "Let me worry about me," he says, wrapping both arms around me once again, enfolding me more securely and pressing me closer into the warmth of his body. "I'd like to spend more time with you before we turn in, if that's alright with you," he says.

As if spending more time together would be a hardship for me.

Then again, I think it just might well be a hardship for the both of us. I can feel his obvious desire pressed against me, and my own yearning for something more physical thrumming within me. But given the guest list and our sleeping arrangements, tonight's not going to be that night. I don't think that's a bad thing though. I'm not sure I'm quite ready to just _go _there, but I'm definitely ready to start _getting _there.

"I'd like to spend more time together, too, if you're up to it," I tell him. My cheeks fire up instantly as my choice of words hits me, and I see the amusement in his eyes at my inadvertent innuendo. With nowhere else to hide, I duck my head into the cover of his neck with an embarrassed little gasp of laughter.

He starts chuckling, his arms clasping me tighter in my moment of personal mortification. Turning his head toward me, he kisses what little corner of my cheek he can reach.

"Well… Clearly, I'm up to it," he murmurs offhandedly. We both start shaking with silent laughter as I burrow my hot face more deeply into that warm neck and jaw I was admiring moments ago.

This man. He's still that same boy who always managed to keep me on that flustered and jittery edge. After all this time he still makes me feel so light, happy, and so very alive. But I think he feels the same way. It's a feeling worthy of pursuit.

I clear my throat and lift my smiling pink face to his. "Well, yes…clearly, you are." He just grins, his eyes dancing and sparkling. He's definitely flushed now as he nods and shrugs it off, and then cups my equally rosy face in his hands, drawing me in for a smiling kiss. As we pull apart, his hands drift to my hips, letting go and yet not, and his hefty sigh ends in a soft growl that sounds more like contentment than frustration.

"We'd better get inside," he says, giving my hips a soft squeeze. "It's chilly out here. Your cheeks got nice and toasty in my neck, but your nose is still cold."

"It was _your_ idea to stop on the steps. Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

His grin is a sexy one. "I have no complaints either, I just don't want you to be cold. Up you go." He pats my hip and we continue up the steps.

"So, tonight was really okay? I know we went a little later than we expected to." On the way home from the diner, he'd said he'd enjoyed himself. I guess I just want to make sure.

"No, tonight was perfect. It was great, getting to see some old friends. Hanging out at the diner for a couple hours together was a nice slice of life from the past." He smiles at me as he gets the door.

"Do you feel like having a glass of wine?" I offer as we step inside.

"Sure, that sounds good. Might as well polish off that bottle we opened earlier, since you'll be gone for a few days."

There's no sign of Masen in the living room, and glancing up the stairs as we head to the kitchen, I can see the rooms up there are all dark. Just the living room and kitchen lights are on, but when we step into the kitchen, it's empty as well.

"Where did Masen go?" Before Edward can reply, we hear Masen's muted laugh and then his voice, low and indistinct, followed by the creak of the porch swing.

"Back porch," Edward and I say in stereo and then smile at each other for doing so.

"How about if you pour our wine while I make up Masen's bed on the couch?" I suggest, gesturing over my shoulder to the folded bedding I set out this afternoon.

"Sure thing," Edward says.

As I begin tucking the bottom sheet into place, it occurs to me Edward and I probably won't be heading out to the porch swing if Masen is out there on the phone. Which leaves us the loveseat in the living room. Until Masen comes inside. Which leaves us little privacy to visit…and whatever. Not that I don't enjoy spending time with Masen, but I'd like to enjoy a little _whatever_ with Edward, and I got the feeling he'd like the same. But as I begin spreading the top sheet into place on the couch, it occurs to me we have an alternative to the porch or living room.

Edward returns a moment later, with our glasses of wine. "Is this too much?" he asks, holding up a wineglass for my inspection. There's probably enough wine in our two glasses for three glasses.

"Oh, um…yeah…I don't think I'll drink that much." He raises a glass to his lips and I'm mesmerized by his throat as he swallows some of it down, licking his lips afterward.

"How about now?" He smirks as he holds the same glass aloft. I just laugh.

"That looks perfect, thank you. If it's still too much, I can probably count on you to help me out."

"Probably." He grins, handing me my less-full glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers." After we both take a drink, I set my glass on the end table so I can finish Masen's bed. Then I remember what I wanted to suggest.

"Edward, I was just thinking… There's the couch in the guest bedroom upstairs. Maybe we should just…hang out…up there? I mean, in case Masen wants to watch TV or something down here?" I'm trying for logical, rather than obvious, but I see the flicker of comprehension in Edward's eyes, followed by a softer smolder as he reads between the lines. Yeah, he's onto me.

"Let's do that. I'll let Mase know," he says, heading back into the kitchen.

While I begin stuffing a pillow into the pillowcase, I hear the back porch door open, and then I hear Edward's voice.

"Hey, Mase?" There's a slight pause. "Sorry to interrupt. Bella is making up the couch for you and then we're going to head upstairs…to the uh…_den_. To visit. You can watch TV down here if you want, when you come in. Just…you know…holler if you need anything." Masen says something in response and Edward follows it up with a "Will do."

The back door shuts and Edward returns just as I finish smoothing the afghan out on the makeshift bed.

"We're good," he says with a conspiratorial little smile. He retrieves our glasses and hands me mine. "Oh, and Mase said thanks, for fixing up the couch."

"Of course."

We both take another drink of our wine and then head for the stairs.

I'm suddenly curious, remembering Masen ducked inside before the Cheneys left to make a ten o'clock phone call, and he's obviously still on the phone.

"Who's Masen talking to?" I ask Edward over my shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure that's Bree," Edward says as he follows me up the stairs. "They've been texting less and talking more."

"He has actual _phone dates _with her now?" I turn to face him as I get to the landing at the top of the stairs. I knew Masen and Bree were still in contact, but I can't help smiling that he had an actual _appointment time _to call.

Edward nods as he ushers me into my home office/guest bedroom/_den_. "She got a job for the summer and works late a couple evenings a week, so they can't talk earlier, but I think he likes to make sure she got home okay."

"Aww… He's cute." I grin, thinking about Masen being a chip off the old protective block. Edward, however is now frowning at me. Clearly I'm a girl and clearly he's never been one, because he's looking at me like I'm crazy—or crazy-ish—for my comment that his son is cute. But it's not until he ducks his chin and quirks an expectant eyebrow at me, that I finally get it.

"Edward!" I laugh. "I meant his _actions_ are cute!"

He raises both eyebrows, looking at me with blinky-twinkly eyes, evidently hoping for more of an assurance.

"Stop it!" I laugh, rolling my eyes and smacking his chest. "Why do you do this to me? Obviously _you're_ cute. And more age-appropriate!"

He busts out laughing, and of course I'm blushing, because this conversation took a ridiculous turn and he didn't have to say a single word. He just stands by as I dig my own hole and fling myself in.

"Why, thank you," he says, looking extremely pleased with himself as he wraps his free arm around me in a one-armed hug. We're probably sloshing wine everywhere.

"You're so annoying!" I laugh into his chest.

"What?!" he laughs. "I didn't say a word!"

"I know! That's what's so annoying!"

He snorts another laugh at that, but keeps me close, and when I finally tip my head up to meet his gaze, the levity transforms into something softer and tenderer in his eyes and smile.

"I think it's clear you're the cute one here," he murmurs, planting a conciliatory kiss on my forehead. I just shake my head. He drives me crazy, but it's a good crazy.

I kick off my shoes and he follows my lead, then we sit on the unfolded, fold-out couch, finally indulging in a little more of our wine.

"So, here we are in my…_den_." It's an inane comment, but because we've come up here with some sort of mutual intent—and can't even pretend we're here to watch TV—I suddenly feel a bit like my jittery teenaged self, prone to the inane. But Edward just chuckles, reaching for my free hand, lacing our fingers together and pulling our joined hands over to his lap.

"You caught that, did you?" He rubs his thumb over mine and I wonder if that's him feeling fidgety like I do. "Guest bedroom sounded a little suggestive and home office sounded too way too administrative, but _den_ sounded like the logical place to…_just_…_hang out_." He punctuates that last phrase by elbowing me, teasing me back for my own choice of words earlier.

"Touché." I laugh, clinking my glass to his. As we take another drink, I look around at this room's varied contents for multiple uses. "You know, _den_ actually might be the best term for this hodgepodge room."

He nods, looking around at the interior, and then his lips curve into a slight smile at some unvoiced thought, but the expression seems bittersweet, somehow. The smile doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"What?" I ask, curious what he's thinking.

He shakes his head slightly and smiles more deliberately, brushing off the thought or my inquiry, or maybe both.

"Tell me."

"Just thinking about something that occurred to me earlier in the day, when you took us on the tour of your home re-do."

"Something good or something bad?" I press.

*I*

I don't want her thinking I'm hiding something from her, so I take a moment to consider my impression when I saw this room today—for the first time in twenty years. My thoughts were elusive and disjointed even at the time.

"Maybe a little of both. I guess not bad, really. Good, I suppose." She frowns at my ambiguity, so I start over, trying to round up my thoughts.

"That first day I showed up here and you invited me in, you welcomed me to your dad's _time capsule_. Remember? You've even called it that since, too." She nods, her eyes studying mine as I try to explain.

"Well, when you took us on the tour today, I was glad to see you've really made the house your own. I liked seeing what _your _home looks like, you know? And I like your taste."

"Thank you." She smiles and takes a sip of her wine, and I take the opportunity to do the same.

"But when you showed us this room, I felt like I was stepping into _your_ time capsule. Or maybe …_our_ time capsule." Her expression softens and her eyes travel around the room, looking at it from my perspective, I suppose.

"I didn't come up here the last time I visited," I remind her. "So, today was the first time in two decades. And granted, your bed and bedside table have been swapped out for the couch and end table, but looking at _that_ half of the room…" I gesture across from where we sit in the partial living room half, to her former bedroom half. "Right now, I could be sitting on your bed, twenty years ago. I guess I assumed it would look different from that…last time…I was in here. It stirred up a lot of memories." I pause, thinking about that god-awful morning I left her.

"Oh, Edward..." There's a pucker of concern between her brows, and her eyes are deep and soft and kind. "It never even occurred to me that you'd feel uncomfortable…"

"No, it's all right. It just took me by surprise, that's all." The last thing I want is to upset her, but the concern etched in her face deepens.

"Would you rather we switched rooms for tonight? I can sleep in here."

"No. Bella, I swear, this is fine. I'm fine." I smile at her and let go of her hand so I can reposition my arm around her. She curls into me, and feeling her soft warmth, I wonder for the millionth time how I ever let go of her in the first place. "You asked what I was thinking…and this is me, trying to put it into words. Okay?"

"Okay." She nods reluctantly, still looking up at me doubtfully, and I lean over to press a kiss to that furrow of concern she's wearing above the bridge of her nose. I smile and take a drink of my wine and she follows suit with hers.

"It was just nostalgic, walking into this hodgepodge den of yours, remembering climbing through that window…us being together in here… and curling up together on this couch when it was downstairs… Well, not this _doppelganger_ couch, but the one that used to be downstairs…" She exhales a soft laugh at my couch comment.

"I told you Dad had a hard time thinking outside the pre-established box, when it came to updating the house," she reminds me and I nod, smiling.

"Yeah, you did."

"And you're so incredibly lucky you never fell and broke an arm or a leg, climbing through that window at night," she adds.

I chuckle at that. "Yeah, I am. A broken leg at the foot of your window would have been hard to explain to your dad. And there would have been no running away from the challenge." She giggles at the thought, but I'm picturing Charlie aiming his service revolver at my teenaged butt, as I hop painfully away across the front lawn.

"Anyway, I guess I just felt surprised and…_moved_, really...by the intimate familiarity of this room, and seeing that you'd kept the necklace I gave you, and still had all those old photos of us mixed in with the others on your bulletin board..."

She pushes up to look at me, her expression a mix of surprise and understanding. I think she now gets why I said my thoughts were a mix of good and bad.

"Oh, Edward…" Reaching up, she presses her fingertips to my lips, shaking her head, warm brown eyes fixed firmly on mine. "I'm going to start a 'brood jar' and make you pay me a dollar every time you go there." I snort a laugh and manage a smashed smile beneath her fingers.

"M'kay, thass a deal," I mumble around her fingertip blockade.

"I'm serious!" she laughs, removing her fingers, but keeping her eyes on my lips like she's daring my mouth to brood. "I don't want the past casting a pall over the present—for you or me."

"I know. Me neither. That's why I was reluctant to say anything…"

"But I'm glad you did. I'd rather know how you feel than not know."

I quirk a brow at her and then gaze heavenward as I contemplate out loud, "To brood…or not to brood…that is the question." She giggles at my theatrics and finishes off her wine, setting the empty glass on the floor at her feet.

"Brood, if you must. Just know it'll cost you," she says with a smile.

"Okay." I smile at her and then I polish off the rest of my wine and lean over to set the glass on the end table.

"Bella, all I meant was, I didn't expect to see those photos and that necklace there still. It felt…you know…kind of undeserved."

She nods, her smile soft and understanding. And then she pushes herself up off the couch as she looks around the room. Going over to her desk, she picks up the pencil cup, still looking around. And I'm wondering what the hell she's doing.

"Bella, what are you…?"

She looks back at me, her eyes flashing with determination and humor. "Take out your wallet. You owe me a buck."

My mouth drops open in surprise and then I burst into laughter. She's completely serious about the brood jar! And she's looking for one! She spots her empty wineglass on the floor and sets the pencil cup back down. Returning to the couch, she picks up the glass.

"This will do," she says and I'm still laughing as she holds it out, wiggling it at me. "Pay up, Edward."

I'm shaking my head, still chuckling as I lean over and pull my wallet out of my back pocket. "Is it a dollar per session or per comment?"

She snorts a laugh. "Per comment would probably be more effective."

I'm still grinning as I thumb through my bills and pull out three ones, stuffing them into the glass. "Does that look about right?" I ask.

"All paid up," she says with a nod, depositing the glass back on the floor.

Dropping my wallet on the couch, I reach out and grab her by the hips, tugging her towards me until she lands sideways on my lap with a little giggled "whoop." Circling my arms around her, holding her in place as she does the same, we just grin at each other.

"You're kind of crazy, you know?" I tell her.

She smiles back at me. "Kind of _good_ crazy or kind of _bad_ crazy?"

"Kind of _perfect_ crazy," I reply, pulling her close and bringing her in for a kiss. And then another. And another. And a few more. Because she does them so well, it's kind of hard to stop.

When she finally pulls back, she's flushed and I'm guessing I look the same. I'm definitely all warmed up again. Warmed up and wanting more, so much more, with her, and so grateful she's giving me the opportunity to try again with her.

"Sorry about that—you know, the brooding," I tell her.

She shrugs, smiling, her fingers stroking through my hair, scratching my head. "At least now you have _new_ last memories in this room."

I smile back at her and nod. "This is very true."

"Do you know, I've lived longer in this house than anywhere else I've ever lived," she says, still fiddling with my hair. Her question is rhetorical, but I still shake my head. "Eleven years over time, between my childhood, summer visits, high school and college, and this past year when I moved back home to help Dad. And I'm definitely his daughter, because I never felt the need to change things up in this room." I smile. She is definitely Charlie Swan's daughter in so many ways.

"Even after I moved to Port Angeles, I liked coming home to all the memories I have here. The photos on my bulletin board are the people, places, and points in time that meant a lot to me while I was growing up….including you." Her soft eyes meet mine and then she drops her gaze for a moment, chewing at her lip.

I kiss her temple and hug her, and then I reach up beneath her hair to caress her neck, giving her a moment to gather her thoughts and share whatever she will.

"There's a box in that closet," she finally says, watching me. "It's filled with more photos, notes, letters, and things you gave me, or that had to do with you. I didn't throw them away. I kept them. I wouldn't have pretended those moments with you never happened…or that you never existed. And the books I've written… You know you're in them because I thought of you. I thought about you a lot."

Before I can open my mouth, she presses her fingers to my lips once again.

"And before you go saying something that's going to cost you a dollar, let me just ask you three things…" She quirks a brow, smiling a little, and I nod, smiling around her fingertips.

"You kept photos of me, right?" she asks.

"Yes."

"And you kept the Golden Pitcher Award I made you, right?"

"Yes."

"Did you keep anything else?"

"I did." She smiles. "Lots of stuff." She giggles.

"Really?"

"Yeah. A boxful—that's where my Golden Pitcher Award was." She just smiles all the more.

"Well, there you go, Edward. We both missed each other and we were both hanging onto our memories. So you don't get to feel bad—you're special but you're not _that_ special." She smiles and I'm chuckling, even as I pull her close, crushing her against me. And when I finally let go a little, it's only enough to tilt her face to mine, to pull her mouth to mine. We've only ever danced around this topic until now, but I'm thankful this conversation is taking place in person.

Running my fingers through her hair, I pull back just enough to speak. "I thought of you, too, Bella. For such a long time. I missed you. Even when I was…" I hesitate, unsure of how my admission will sound, if I tell her I thought about her when I was married.

"Even when you…_weren't_ _supposed_ _to_?" she finishes for me, her voice soft, her breath tickling my lips.

"Yeah," I exhale. "Even then."

"Well, me too," she says.

She lifts her head enough that I can see her eyes, luminous with emotion. "I'm just glad you had the guts to come back. And talk to me. I couldn't have done that—looked you up."

I nod. I know. I'd hurt her too badly. But I'm not going to say it out loud. She'd just charge me a dollar.

"At least I got this part right," I whisper and she nods, smiling again.

"Yeah, you did." She kisses me. And then the kiss deepens. It feels like a promise of more to come and I hope she feels it too.

It's so hard to wrap my mind around it. All these years, she has thought of me like I have thought of her. But at least we're not wasting anymore time.

"Hey, Dad?!"

We break apart, looking at each other wide-eyed, and I finally notice the sound of the TV downstairs. It appears we've both forgotten we're not completely alone. And by the tell-tale sound of the creaky fourth step, we know Masen's already a third of the way up the stairs.

"Oh, gosh!" Bella whispers, propelling herself awkwardly up off my lap, accidentally kicking the wineglass-brood-jar in the process, and landing somewhat ungracefully onto the couch next to me. I spring up, grabbing the wineglass as it goes twirling away across the floor, then drop back into place next to Bella. Landing right on her hand.

"Ow! Edward!" she whisper shrieks, shoving me to the side. We're both choking back our laughter as she yanks her hand out from under my butt and smacks my thigh.

"We're really out of practice," I snicker and then we're both laughing out loud, just as Masen clears the top of the steps and knocks on the doorframe of the open door.

"Hello?" he says, before peeking cautiously into the room. Poor kid. His eyebrows are halfway to his hairline and he looks like he's not quite sure what he just walked into. But as his smirk shows up, I think maybe he has a good idea of what he just walked into. He looks from me, with my probable screwed-up hair, flushed with laughter and holding a dollar-bill-filled wineglass, to Bella's crimson, giggly face, and he grins.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt…_whatever_."

"No. No, that's fine. You're fine." Bella says, waving off his apology and then dragging her hand through her hair. I reach up to my own hair, figuring I'd better do the same, and I clear my throat.

"What's up? Did you need something?" I ask Masen.

His eyes scan the room. "I'm going to turn in but I think I left my bag… Oh, there it is." He gestures to the floor near the end of the couch.

"Come on in," I tell him. "We were just finishing…" _Finishing_? Finishing _what_? I have no idea what we were finishing.

Bella stands up from the couch. "Yeah, we were just about to hit it, too," she volunteers, and then she turns to me, looking alarmed at her choice of words.

"Yeah, time to hit the hay and get some sleep," I agree, glancing at Masen. He seems not to have noticed any innuendo. He's busy fishing around in his bag, either oblivious or decidedly so. I grin back at Bella and shake my head. She rolls her eyes at herself or the both of us, I'm not sure which.

We both start removing the cushions from the fold-out couch as Masen heads into the bathroom to change and do his nightly routine. While I open up the couch, Bella retrieves two pillows from the linen closet. She already made the bed up, so after tossing the pillows into place, we're done.

"So… I'm just going to go ahead and change," Bella says, somewhat hesitantly.

I nod. "Yeah, okay." I smile at her.

"You can...you know...get in there next," she says, gesturing toward the bathroom.

"All right. I won't take long."

"Okay. So… Okay." She smiles and exits the room, heading into her bedroom and closing the door behind her. I sit on the edge of the bed, peeling off my socks. Masen comes out of the bathroom just as I'm pulling my polo shirt off over my head.

"I'm done. You on deck?" he asks, stowing his things back in his bag.

"Yeah, I guess I'm next. Did you get tomorrow squared away?" I ask as I dig around in my bag for the T-shirt and basketball shorts I'm wearing to bed.

He looks up and smiles, zipping his bag. "Yeah. I told her I'd give her a call when we get there." I smile at my grinning kid. There's a girl in Seattle, waiting to see him, and I know he's anxious to get there. I also know exactly what that feels like.

"Good."

"Yeah."

"You nervous?" I ask as I pull on my T-shirt.

No." He scoffs. Shifts his stance. Puts his hands on his hips. "Well, maybe a little."

I stifle my smile and nod as I stand to undo my fly. "Well, I'm sure she is too."

"You think so?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest while I shove my jeans down and start pulling them off.

"Sure. After two months of talking long-distance…and you're finally going to get to see each other… It's only natural."

He nods. Then the lightbulb goes on and he grins, realizing I'm talking about me and Bella, too.

"Today was good…?" He's kind of saying, kind of asking, waiting for my verdict.

I smile, tossing my jeans aside and grabbing my basketball shorts. "Yeah. Today was...pretty great."

"Yeah?" He grins back at me, and his interest makes me chuckle, but it's nice to know he cares.

"Yeah," I tell him as I pull on my shorts.

"That's great." He nods and grins more widely. "I'm really glad."

I nod back at him. "Me too."

He yawns as I fold up my jeans. "Well, I guess I'm going to head off to bed. Goodnight, Dad. Love you."

"Love you, too, Mase." I give his shoulder a squeeze and follow him out the door so I can head into the bathroom. "See you in the morning."

"Goodnight, Bella!" he calls out from the hallway as I close the bathroom door.

*I*

I'm standing at my dresser, just inside my bedroom door, smiling to myself. While getting changed for bed, I caught Edward and Masen's conversation. Names weren't mentioned, but it was clear they were discussing Bree at first and I think I was the subtext at the end. But my favorite part was just listening to Edward being a father.

Masen calls out a goodnight to me and I look down at myself, glad I had the forethought to include a sport bra with my tank top and sleep shorts. Opening the door, I can't help but smile. Dressed in navy basketball shorts and a faded blue T-shirt, he reminds me so much of young Edward.

"Goodnight, Masen. I hope you sleep well. That couch is pretty comfy."

He smiles. "It is. I was lying on it, watching TV for a bit. Oh, and thanks for making it up."

"No problem. I guess I'll see you in the morning."

He nods and shuffles off down the stairs.

I head back into my room and sit on my bed, waiting for Edward to finish up in the bathroom. One bathroom really is rather inconvenient, though having three people in the house at once is quite the rarity. But Edward doesn't take long, and once he exits the bathroom, he appears at my door, in black basketball shorts and a white T-shirt. He smiles as he looks me over in my pink plaid shorts and light pink tank. Not much has changed in the past twenty years. I've never been a slinky nightie kind of girl, preferring to sleep in girly boxers and a T-shirt or tank. But at least these are new. Fitz couldn't care less what I wear to bed, but I didn't want to frighten Edward.

"It's all yours," he says, gesturing toward the bathroom.

"Okay, thanks."

He heads back into the den as I disappear into the bathroom.

These Cullen men impress me. They're pretty neat creatures—or at least Edward is, since he was the last one in here. The toilet seat is down, the towels are still hanging up, and the sink is free of toothpaste globs. After living with Dad and then Jake, I didn't know this was even possible.

When I reappear with my scrubbed face and minty fresh breath, the door to the den is still open and the light is on, so I peek inside. Edward is sitting on the edge of the fold-out bed, but he stands when he sees me and walks toward me as I duck inside for a moment.

"I just came to say goodnight," I tell him.

"I was hoping you would." He wraps his arms around me as I slide my arms around his waist. We hold each other close for a moment, both of us exhaling a sigh of contentment. After two months apart, I think today really exceeded our expectations.

"Thanks for today, Bella. And tonight," he murmurs softly into my hair.

I tip my head up to smile at him. "Thank you for coming back here, Edward."

He smiles and leans down, kissing me softly and then once again a little more lingeringly.

"I'll see you in the morning, Bella."

"Yeah, you too. Goodnight, Edward."

"Goodnight."

I turn off the hall light as I head to my room, and Edward shuts the light off in the den.

As I enter my room, I look back, watching for him to close his door. But he doesn't, and after a moment I finally shut my door, realizing he's probably keeping his open because Masen is downstairs. I stand at my closed door for a moment before I finally head to bed, pull back the covers, and climb in. I reach over and turn off the light, then scoot down under the covers.

And then I lie there. And finally turn over on my side. And lie there. And my big, comfy bed has never felt less appealing. But that fold-out bed in the next room has quite the allure. Despite it's thinner mattress, it contains an Edward Cullen.

And so I sit up and throw the blankets back and climb out of bed. I tiptoe over to my door and stand there, indecisive, but only for a minute. Or maybe two. Then I quietly open my door and tiptoe into the hall and over to the den. It takes me another minute to peek in, but I finally do. And though the room is dark, I can see Edward's silhouette, lying on his back, with his arms folded beneath his head. He's perfectly still and I'm thinking he might already be asleep. I'm just about to chicken out and turn back to my room when I hear him whisper.

"Bella?" He sits up a little.

"Yeah," I whisper back.

"What's wrong?"

"Um... Do you want...some company...for just a..?"

He flings the covers back and scoots over before I even finish my whispered words. And as I tiptoe into the room I can feel his smile in the darkness. And when he reaches for me, I'm smiling too.

We may be in a fold-out bed in the time capsule, but we're leaving the past behind and moving forward.

* * *

**A/N: Hope to hear from you! xo**


	32. An Overnighter in Forks

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Back to Bella and Edward…on Friday night…in the dark…on the sofa-bed…in the Time Capsule.

* * *

**Chapter 32: An Overnighter in Forks**

With the curtains closed in the den, it's quite dark as I scoot closer to Edward in the sofa-bed. As I lie down next to him, I reach out to slide my arm around his torso, feeling only his bare skin beneath my palm.

"You're _naked_?" I whisper as he scoops me into his side. He emits a strangled little choking sound and the bed starts bouncing with his silent laughter.

"I just took off my shirt," he whispers back. "Everything else is still safely under wraps, Bella." I can hear the grin in his voice and of course _now_ I feel the silky nylon fabric of his shorts on my legs.

"Oh." Gah! Why do I do this to myself? Crap just flies out of my mouth to embarrass me and entertain him. At least he can't see my face, blushing in the dark.

Laying my head on his shoulder, I slip my hand up to his chest—just as he and the bed begin vibrating with laughter once gain.

"Oh, quit it," I mutter, grasping and tugging on soft chest hairs beneath my hand. He snorts, catching my hand up in his. Turning his body toward me, he kisses my forehead and I can feel his smile against my skin. But I'm smiling too. It's hard not to feel giddy, lying here together like this, wrapped up in each other's arms, our legs tangled together, feeling the press of body and warmth of skin...and the silky nylon fabric of his shorts, of course.

"You know, I could hear you blushing," he whispers.

I snort into his pectoral muscle. What a load of crap. But of course he's dead-on about the blushing. Loosening my hand from his grasp, I reach for his side, digging my fingertips in where I know he's ticklish. He jerks away with a muffled laugh, grabbing up my hand once again. Settling back into place, he keeps my hand clasped against his chest—not taking any chances, I suppose, and that's probably smart.

"Would you have gone scampering away if I'd been naked?" he murmurs, and now I'm making the bed shake, visualizing what he just said. As if I would have been horrified by Edward's nudity. Yeah, not so much. A naked Edward is far more glorious than horrifying.

Tipping my head up to the curve of his smirking mouth and the glint of amusement in his eyes, I smile right back at him. "I'm not afraid of you—in the buff or otherwise. I've seen it all before," I remind him, and his teeth flash in a grin. "It just took me by surprise. The last I saw, you had a shirt on."

"I was warm and I wasn't expecting company," he says with a smile. "I was wishing you were here, though. Then I saw you by the door. I'm glad you came back." He loosens his hand to wrap his arm around me, and slipping his hand beneath the edge of my shirt, his fingertips ghost across the skin of my lower back, giving me the best kind of goosebumps.

I smile as I reach up, my fingers stroking along his jawline. "I'm glad, too," I tell him. "For all the times you've crept in here, I owed you a visit." He chuckles softly as I wrap my hand around his neck and pull him closer for a kiss. But just as our lips meet, he pulls his head back.

"Wait… You're just here for a visit?" he asks. "Won't you stay?" I can't see too well, but I can see well enough to know those are puppy dog eyes looking back at me in the dark.

I chew at my lip for a moment. "What about Masen?"

His hand leaves my back, reaching up to push my hair away from my face. Cradling the side of my face in his hand, he shrugs. "I seriously doubt he'd be too concerned if we slept together tonight."

My mouth drops open. Masen is right below us. I'm pretty sure he would hear _everything_. Maybe he wouldn't hear the blood singing in my veins, but he would definitely notice any rhythmic squeaking of these bed springs. I would never be able to look him in the eye tomorrow without bursting into flames. But before I can voice my thoughts, Edward shifts, propping himself up on his elbow and looking down at me.

"I'm talking about actual…_sleeping_…Bella," he clarifies, smiling as he ducks his head down for a peck on the lips.

I nod, thankful he saved me from saying anything out loud, and relieved he meant actual sleeping. I think I could do that and still look Masen in the eye tomorrow. But I can't help feeling the tiniest bit dejected, wondering if Edward doesn't want _more_ before we part ways again on Sunday. It's not a discussion we had over the phone—planning out some sort of intimacy schedule. But with the limited time we'll have together now and the lengthy distance that will follow, it feels like the clock is ticking and I'd like to know...

"Bella…" Edward murmurs. I look up at him and he brushes his thumb across my lower lip. "What are you thinking? You've gone awfully quiet on me."

"I'm just wondering if you… I mean, don't you want to sleep together? As in…_not-sleeping_?"

He exhales a soft breath and smiles, and then he shifts, moving his body over mine. Instinctively I part my legs to make room for him, and my breath catches in my throat even before he's settled completely into place. Feeling him, pressed against me, it's obvious at least one part of him would be interested in some _not-sleeping_.

"What do you think, Bella?" His voice is a soft growl as he leans down again, kissing the corner of my mouth, his nose gliding against mine.

"I…think…you do." It's a wonder the butterflies in my stomach don't fly right out of my mouth.

"Of course, I do," he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine, his breath warm on my lips. "Don't think for a moment that I don't." He lifts his head to look at me, his eyes dark and searching as he strokes a thumb over my cheekbone. "Do you?"

"Yes." I nod and his face lights up with a smile that only grows bigger, like he couldn't contain it if he tried. I wonder if his heart is beating like a bass drum. Like mine is. Our smiles certainly match, so maybe the bass drums are in concert as well.

"You do? Really?" he asks and I laugh at his interest and the fact that he has to double check. Like he just can't believe it. He's so sweet and sexy and that look on his face and that cocked eyebrow just kill me.

"Of course I do," I tell him. "But…with Masen right downstairs…"

He nods. "I know. That and _this_…" He flexes his hips against me a couple times, making the bedsprings creak, and making me swat his butt in alarm to make him stop—although, gah! "_That_…puts a damper on any kind of…reckless abandon." He smiles but I'm stuck on the feeling of his arousal pressing against me and the phrase "_reckless abandon"_ is running laps in my head.

His expression turns more serious. "When I booked our hotel rooms for tomorrow night, I didn't want to just assume that you and I would be together, but I'm sure Masen wouldn't mind having the one room to himself." I don't realize he's waiting for a response, until he brushes his thumb along my cheekbone and cocks his head to the side. "Would you…want that? For us to share a room?" he asks, sounding hesitant and hopeful at once.

He's crazy. And he's always been extremely considerate. But seriously, who wouldn't want to recklessly abandon themselves to him, if given the opportunity?

"Of course I would," I reply, feeling my face heat up, because now it seems we're actually planning an evening of reckless abandon together tomorrow night. My embarrassment fades the moment his mouth curves up into a boyish grin. His expression makes me giggle. He's a thirty-nine-year-old with suddenly hot and horny teenager-face.

"Yeah? We'll be roommates?" He can't wait. I can hear the interest and excitement in his voice and I can certainly feel it in the erection pressed against me. And I still might burst into flames when I see Masen the morning after, but I think I'm willing to take my chances—Edward is bringing out the hot and horny teen in me, too.

I run my hands up his back to his shoulders and I smile. "I'd really like that. I like this—being with you."

He sighs happily, his arms sliding beneath me—one up to my shoulder, one down to the small of my back. "Me too, Bella," he whispers. "I like this a lot."

I reach up, wrapping my hands around his neck and into his hair, pulling his face back to mine. I've missed this. I've missed him, I want him, and he feels the same.

Capturing his lips with mine, I sigh, reveling in the warmth of his body, his arms surrounding me, the weight of his hips pinning me down, and the smooth, broad expanse of his shoulders and back beneath my hands. There's just something about the feel of the right person's skin against your own.

Except I'm still wearing two tops and I want a little more…or less, as the case may be.

I reach down, trying to pull my tank top up and simultaneously pull my arm down inside. Realizing what I'm doing, Edward leans up to help me rid myself of my shirt, and then tosses it to the floor.

"This?" he whispers, fingering the strap of the sport bra-top I'm still wearing. I smile though I feel bad having to quash the optimism I hear in his voice.

"Not tonight," I mumble, shaking my head as I thread my fingers up into his hair and pull him back to me. With my luck, Forks would suffer an impromptu natural disaster and I don't want to have to find two shirts on the floor while Edward and his son flee to safety.

"Well, don't plan on wearing it tomorrow night," he murmurs into my ear. I laugh into his neck but then I stop abruptly when I feel him kissing the tender skin just beneath my ear. It makes my toes curl.

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I'd be in this bedroom, making out with Edward Cullen again. But I am and we are. We're all lips and mouths and tongues and teeth on faces, necks, collar bones and ears. And I can't help comparing the reality of it to the memory of it—the memory I thought I'd built up in my mind over time. But no. This reality far surpasses the memory. He's just good at this. He's so good at this. Or maybe we're just in tune with each other.

Every kiss and suck and nibble and touch ignites and inflames. We're quiet until he shifts his hips against me and I'm unable to stifle the soft moan that escapes away into his mouth at the feel of him. But he absorbs the sound, responding with an encouraging pleasurable hum of his own, and he moves again, slowly and quietly as I press my hips up to meet him.

I don't know how long we continue, listening to each other's soft sighs and ragged breaths, but I think we're losing control fast. When I pull my legs up to tilt my hips, pressing my hands into his lower back, he closes his eyes and exhales harshly as he grinds against me. Burying his head in my neck, his lips and tongue and teeth tease, and he whispers my name, again and again.

Like two teenagers wary of discovery, our stealth grinding is quiet, but despite the few thin layers of fabric between us, it's powerful enough, enticing enough, or maybe it's just been long enough. He lifts his head to gaze at me as I cling to him, my fingers dig into the muscles of his lower back as our hips roll in a slow sexual dance. And suddenly, my thoughts scatter, like birds lifting into flight, and I'm there—his name a breathless gasp on my lips as I tremble and soar.

Maybe he was waiting for me, or maybe I pulled him along to join me in flight, because he moves again and then his body stills, tense and taut above me as he unravels, and then shudders before finally sinking down onto me. With warm, heavy exhales against each other's skin, I tighten my arms around him, savoring this, letting the feel of him sink into my bones.

"I'm crushing you," he murmurs, once he's caught his breath. Though I tell him he's not, he gathers me up and rolls to the side, pulling me over to sprawl across his chest. His arms envelop me and his fingers stroke gently through my hair and down my back, and I listen to the thump of his heart. He lifts his arm to run his hand through his hair and half-sighs, half-hums. It's a warm sound of contentment, relief and total relaxation.

"Well, I had good intentions…of just sleeping..." he says after a moment. "But you felt too good and I couldn't stop. You made me lose all control." I giggle at his sweet honesty and turn my head to plant a kiss on his chest. When I look up at him, he's got an endearing dopey smile on his face, and I think I must look the same. I doubt either of us feels too badly about our loss of control.

"Well, I certainly wasn't trying to stop anything," I tell him. "I just hope we were as quiet as I think we were."

"I think we were," he says, tipping his head up to kiss my forehead. And then he chuckles. "I just can't believe the first time we're in a bed together, we do…_that_. At our age." I laugh because he's right. It's been years since I've enjoyed a clandestine dry hump with a revved-up, sexy boy. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was this _same_ revved-up, sexy boy.

"Are you referring to our…cautious and quasi-adolescent semi-abandon?" I ask and he laughs.

"Yeah, exactly. And speaking of which…" He grimaces. "I really need to…change. I'll be right back." He starts to get up, but then leans back down to me. "Don't go anywhere," he growls, giving me a smiling kiss on the lips. Climbing out of bed, he roots around in his bag before padding off to the bathroom to deal with the aftereffects of our stealth-pseudo-sex.

I lie back and take a deep breath, feeling flushed and happy, and hoping Masen isn't crouched in a corner downstairs, rocking and mewling to himself.

Edward returns just as I've climbed out of bed and begun searching for my pajama top on the floor.

"Where are you going?" he asks when he sees me.

"I forgot to lock up downstairs—not the front door, but the back porch door. I always lock up after I let Fitz out, but tonight Masen was out back and I never checked or asked if he locked up when he came back in."

"Stay here. I'll go," he says.

He pauses to stuff something into his bag—his boxer briefs, I'm guessing—and then he picks up his phone from the side table, turning on the flashlight function as he heads back out of the room. I don't hear the creaky step, so he must have remembered it and skipped over it. I can't hear him at all as he silently moves through the house.

After a couple minutes I see the glow of the flashlight function as he comes back up the stairs.

"It's locked," he whispers as he sets his phone down and crawls back into bed. "Mase must have locked up when he came in."

"Was he awake?" I cross my fingers, hoping he's not going to mention any mewling.

"No. He was asleep. He fell asleep with his earbuds in, listening to music. He does that all the time."

"Oh. Well that's good." Thank God for small favors and cell phones. "I guess we'd better get to sleep, too."

"Yeah," he says, wrapping his arms around me as I do the same to him. "You're staying here, right?" he murmurs. Then his arms tighten around me in a vise grip. "Never mind…I'm not letting you go."

I snort a laugh as I snuggle up to him. "Where would I go that's better than this?"

He makes a happy humming sound as he tips his head down to kiss me. "Goodnight, Bella."

"Goodnight, Edward."

*I*

In the morning, it's like awakening from a good dream to an even better dream. Only this is reality. I'm really here with her. She's soft and warm and still tucked up against my body, still asleep. She turned over at some point in the night, but I'm still curled around her—the big spoon to her little spoon.

They say "_home is where the heart is_," and wrapped around her in this fold-out couch, in this same old bedroom, two thousand miles from Chicago, I feel more _home_ than I've felt in ages. It's her. It's always been her. And I'm filled with gratitude that I've been fortunate enough to get this second chance at something with her. My feelings for her overwhelm me—banging around in my chest, filling me up. All I want is more—more time, more of this, more of her. New memories to layer on top of the old.

She makes a small sound and I let go of her as she begins moving, stretching. I watch her as she rolls over onto her back and then shifts her body, turning to face me. As I watch, her big brown eyes blink open and for a split second, she seems surprised to see me, but then she smiles and closes her eyes again.

"See something you like?" she asks in a sleepy voice—still smiling, eyes still closed—and I chuckle as I wrap my arm back around her and she slides her arm around me.

"Yeah, I do," I tell her. "Very much so."

Her smile widens and she opens her eyes again, soft brown looking up at me. "Me too."

We smile at each other and she starts scratching lazy patterns on my back.

"Did you sleep okay?" she asks, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, really well. Like the dead. And I'm kind of upset about that, to tell you the truth."

"Why?" she asks, tipping her head up with a frown.

"I missed out. I was so busy sleeping I didn't get to watch you sleeping."

"Oh." She snorts a laugh. "Well, it looked a lot like this," she says, closing her eyes with a grin. I laugh at her—a sleeping Cheshire Cat.

"Were you smiling like that the whole time?" I ask and her eyes pop open again, bright and sparkling, and she laughs.

"I think so. I've been rather happy lately. Especially these last twenty four hours," she says.

"Oh, yeah?" I quirk a brow at her and she nods. We're both wearing goofy grins. "Hmm… Must be something going around. I've been rather happy since yesterday morning, too. And I'm especially happy I didn't have to climb down a tree at the crack of dawn to avoid discovery."

She shakes her head, laughing at our past. "Yeah, this is much nicer. Safer for you, too. Then again…climbing down a tree was probably safer than my dad discovering you here."

I nod, smiling, but then it makes me think of another morning—that last morning. And Charlie Swan. And something I want her to know.

"I would have liked to have seen your dad again, Bella. I would have liked to have apologized to him too, for what I did. I can't imagine he handled that last morning very well."

She looks up, her brow furrowing. "What do you mean?"

I hesitate. Maybe she doesn't know? "He saw me here that last morning…before I told you."

"He saw you here? With me?" I nod. It's clear she doesn't know. He never told her. But now she's waiting for me to elaborate.

"I was too distracted, thinking about what I was going to do and say, and I didn't notice the time. You were still sleeping. I didn't want to wake you—I knew that would be the end then. But he peeked in to check on you, before he left for work. And there I was, caught, lying here in bed with you, but at least we were both dressed. He didn't say anything. He just looked at me and then he nodded and left. Charlie never told you?"

She shakes her head. "No. He never said a word about that morning. I mean, it was clear he knew something had happened between us, and he knew your family was moving, but he didn't pry and I didn't tell him what had happened. Eventually I just said we'd broken up, but by then I figured he had already assumed. Or he just knew."

"I'm sure he must have suspected what was happening, once he took a look at me. I think he knew what I was going to tell you."

She nods. "Dad was good at reading people, so maybe he did know. And he must have seen that you were distraught over it."

"Yeah. I just wish I could have told him I'd made a terrible mistake that day."

Her eyes are soft, tender. "You were a kid, Edward. Barely older than Masen. You only did what you thought was the right thing to do. You weren't trying to be hurtful." I nod. We've been over this. After a moment, I smile at her.

"I wonder what your dad would think about _this_. You know…_us_. Now. After all this time."

"I'd like to think he knows. And I'm sure he would approve." She smiles a wistful smile. I know she misses him. "I think Dad would feel that you turned up at precisely the right time. And who knows, maybe he had something to do with that—with you knowing to show up when you did."

I find her words and her conviction touching. If nothing else, they give me a better idea of how she feels about this twist of fate we've found ourselves in.

"Well, I suppose we'll never know for sure…" I tell her. "But I'd like to think your dad knows I won't make the same mistake twice. This time I'll take better care of his daughter's heart."

"Oh, Edward…" There's a shimmer in her eyes as she stretches up, wrapping her arms around my neck, and kisses me soundly. When she pulls away I smile at her and I can see she's trying not to let her emotions get the best of her.

After a moment, I clear my throat, wanting to dispel this slightly somber mood I helped to bring on.

"So… Do I need to stash any cash in that brood jar for this conversation we just had?"

Her mouth draws into a smile and she chuckles, and then she purses her lips, like she's ruminating, evaluating what's been said.

"No," she finally says, beaming at me. "I think you're good."

*I*

Lying in bed, holding hands with our fingers linked together, Edward and I discuss the plan for the day: showers, breakfast, and then departure for Bainbridge Island, where we'll take the Ferry to Seattle. If we're lucky, the trip should take us somewhere between three and a half and four hours, putting us at our hotel sometime between twelve thirty and one o'clock, giving us plenty of time to do some sightseeing before dinner.

Edward won't tell me exactly where we're staying, what we're doing, or where we're eating. He wants to surprise me and I can't even tickle it out of him. All I know is, at the end of the day, we'll be together…not-sleeping…engaging in…reckless abandon. Which means we have to last through at least twelve hours of figurative foreplay, wherever and whatever we do.

Edward tells me to go ahead and start with my shower, meanwhile he'll take care of the sofa-bed, wake Masen to get him going next, and then he'll shower last.

When I step out of the bathroom in my robe, I call downstairs to let them know I'm done. I hear Masen holler back that he'll be right there. In my room, I dry my hair and dress. We won't be returning to the hotel until after dinner in the evening, so I need to dress comfortably, but nice enough for dinner at an upscale bar and grille—that much Edward told me.

I go with skinny black jeans, a black lacy camisole, and an ice-blue blouse over it. I'll bring my gray cardigan with the blue floral embroidery and wear my black flats. Once I'm dressed, I add a little make-up and head downstairs to make breakfast.

But as soon as I open my door, breakfast smells waft my way and I can hear Edward and Masen talking in the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, I can see the table is set for three. And upon entering the kitchen, I see Masen pouring orange juice into glasses as Edward turns around with a frying pan in hand. And even though it's patently obvious they've made breakfast, I still ask the question.

"You made breakfast?!"

Masen looks over and grins. "Nothing fancy, but totally edible," he says. "Fried eggs, buttered toast, coffee and juice."

Edward gives me a crooked smile. "You cooked for us last time we were in Forks. I figured we'd cook for you this time. Sit."

I'm still gaping, looking from father to son. Edward is still in basketball shorts and the T-shirt he had on last night. Masen has showered and changed into jeans, a white T-shirt and a blue plaid button-down shirt, with rolled up sleeves. It's the most dressed-up I've ever seen him.

Edward walks over with the frying pan and a spatula, sliding fried eggs off onto plates. "You had nine eggs left, so I just made them all. I had to use two pans." He smiles at me again. "Sit."

I sit. Watching him. Them. "You made breakfast," I say again and Edward chuckles. Masen looks over with a grin.

"Is that all you're going to say?" Edward asks.

"Oh, um…thank you." He bursts into laughter.

"That's not what I meant, but you're welcome. You just said the same thing twice."

"Oh. Still…thank you. This is so…unexpected." I just sit there smiling. I don't know when the last time was that a man made me breakfast, and today I have _men_ making me breakfast. I watch Edward as he returns to the kitchen for the second pan, meanwhile Masen brings juice glasses to the table.

"Good morning, Bella," he says, grinning at me as he sets the glasses out.

"Good morning, Masen. How did you sleep?"

"Oh, I slept great. That couch is like sleeping on a cloud." He returns to the kitchen while Edward comes back and doles out the rest of the fried eggs, and then Masen brings a plate of buttered toast to the table and sits.

"Well, thank you again. This was a nice surprise," I tell them both when Edward returns and finally sits.

We dig into our breakfast and I have to agree with what Masen said earlier—it's totally edible and I compliment the chefs. Masen buttered the toast all the way to the edge and Edward knows how to fry an egg—not overdone and rubbery, not underdone and soupy—these are perfect.

*I*

After breakfast, we clear the table and Dad heads off to shower and change. When Bella starts washing dishes, I help dry. She asks me if I cook for myself and I tell her I can do the obvious—cereal, sandwiches, ramen noodles, scrambled eggs, salads, and such. I can do pasta but I use premade sauce in a jar, and I help Dad cook sometimes, but he has to tell me what to do. I tell her I probably won't need to cook for a while, since I'll be eating in the dining hall at school, at least while I live in the dorms, but I'd like to learn how to make some things. Like her lasagna. She says it's easy if you follow directions, and the next time I come to her house we can make it together. I like that idea. I love that lasagna. And I'm sure I'll be seeing Bella again at some point.

When we finish the dishes, I strip the sheets off the couch and take them upstairs to the laundry while Bella packs a few last minute things in her suitcase. Dad's busy getting dressed, now that he's out of the shower, so I head back downstairs to wait. A few minutes later I hear Dad and Bella talking and then laughing as they hit the stairs—Dad with his carryon bag and Bella's suitcase, and she's right behind him with a smaller bag and her purse.

They run through a verbal checklist, making sure everybody has everything, and then we head outside. I wait on the walkway with our bags while they pull the old switcheroo with the trucks, getting mine out of the garage and Bella's into the garage. Finally we load up our things, get the truck bed cover in place, and climb in. And as soon as Dad starts up the truck he reaches over for Bella's hand.

It's been kind of entertaining, watching them together since we got here yesterday. It's definitely different than last time we were here. The looks they give each other. They way one of them looks at the other when they think no one is watching. And the looks on their faces even when they're not looking at each other, but are thinking about each other. Because you can tell. And then there's the smiles. The touches. Hand-holding. And I know there's been more. I'm not stupid.

I know he likes her. More than likes her. They talked a lot over the past two months, he sent her flowers, and she became a regular topic of conversation at our house—not the personal stuff, but I heard newsy updates. And since we arrived yesterday, Dad has been…I don't know…_bubbly_. It's like when you have a friend, who's into a girl, and you can tell, but he's not ready to address the situation, and then when he finally owns up to it, it's like, yeah, yeah, we know, it was pretty obvious. Only this is my dad we're talking about, not some friend. So it's kind of weird, but I think it's a good thing. I think she's good for him, especially if she's making him this happy. It's pretty cool that they used to be a couple and are sort of rekindling things. It's just too bad they don't live closer, because a long distance romance really sucks.

That much I know.

As we head away from Bella's house I pull my phone out of my pocket and send off a text.

**We're leaving Forks now. :) **

My phone vibrates a few seconds later and I smile when I read the reply.

**Yay! See you in about four hours. :)**

I pull my earbuds out of my pocket and plug them into my phone with a sigh. This is going to be the longest four hours of my life.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you'll share your thoughts. **


	33. Restless in Transit

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Hope you are still with me? I'm way behind on the review replies but I'll try to get catch up. Just know I love reading your thoughts and really appreciate you sharing them with me. Have a Happy Easter.

* * *

**Chapter 33: Restless in Transit**

It's a warm, sunny day and there's not a single cloud in the brilliant blue sky over the Olympic Peninsula. Looking over at Edward as we drive along the 101, the view is even more spectacular than the view out the window. He's such an extraordinarily beautiful man, but especially so when he's wearing his heart on his sleeve.

He hasn't let go of my hand since we left Forks, and every time he glances over with a grin, squeezing my hand or rubbing his thumb over my knuckles, I have to work at keeping my smile from turning into a giggle. We're both stupid-happy. I can't stop thinking about last night. And tonight. I think the past twenty four hours were better than either of us could have hoped for or imagined.

I suspect we both took the same approach for this weekend—trying not to have any expectations other than enjoying the opportunity to spend more time together. But seeing each other again yesterday was a thrilling relief, and with our conversations last evening, the unplanned intimacy of last night, and tonight's planned intimacy, I know I've given Edward Cullen my heart again.

Masen has been quiet since we left Forks, listening to music and alternately staring out the window or attempting to doze. I wonder if he's anxious about the month and a half to come—being away from home and family and starting school at U-Dub. But I'm guessing he's also looking forward to seeing Bree again. I'd ask him but with his headphones on he's in his own little world and I don't want to disturb him.

Shortly after passing through Port Angeles, my phone chimes with a text. I pluck it from my purse and see that it's Angela.

**You'll never guess who stopped in for coffee, bright and early.**

I snort a laugh. Of course I can guess. Edward looks over, eyebrow lifted in inquiry.

"It's a text from Angela." I read it and he grins.

"If we're placing bets, my money's on Jessica," he says. I laugh and agree as I text a response and read it aloud, earning a chuckle from him.

**Was it nosy Mrs. Newton-the-Younger?**

Angela's response is quick and I read it to Edward.

**Bingo! The gist was what you'd expect: So what's up with Bella and Edward Cullen?**

Edward smiles, lightly squeezing my leg now that my hands are occupied with my phone.

"What did Angela tell her?" He looks over, his eyes studying mine, like maybe he'd rather know what my own answer would be. Of course, I'm wondering how _he_ would label this, and wondering how creative Angela got with her answer, and wondering if maybe I shouldn't have kept this text conversation to myself, but I text her his question.

When the phone chimes with her answer, I read it to myself in case there's anything I need to edit out, but it's okay, so I read it aloud.

**I tried to deflect but Jess wasn't having it. I told her Edward contacted you a couple months ago and you're seeing each other. I also told her he's been divorced for quite a while so she wouldn't make up drama on her own to fill in the blanks. Hope that was okay? **

I look back over at Edward. He shrugs and smiles at my questioning look.

"That's fine with me," he says. "We are seeing each other, though not nearly often or long enough. But I'm hoping to remedy that when you come to Chicago." He gives me a sly look. Of course I'm intrigued.

"You are? How so?"

"I'm hoping I can convince you to stay longer. But if that doesn't work, I'm willing to keep you prisoner." He grins and shrugs again. You know, whatever it takes." I laugh out loud, imagining myself shackled in Chicago with Edward as my Master.

I should probably read less smut.

"You want me to stay longer than a week?"

"Definitely. Ten days, two weeks, or…you know…longer. Indefinitely…" He looks over and I think he's surprised by the look of surprise looking back at him.

_Indefinitely_? I'm not sure what he's saying, so I don't know what to say. And in the absence of an immediate response from me, his sunny expression falters, He looks back at the road, removing his hand from my leg to rake his fingers through his hair. When he places that hand on the steering wheel, I reach over and grab his leg before negative thoughts can get the best of him.

"Edward…"

"I didn't…mean to get carried away, Bella." His hand covers mine, his fingers curling around mine again. "I'd just like you to stay with me as long as you can. Or want to." He looks over, his expression uncertain, but I smile, wanting to reassure him.

"I want that, too, Edward. I just don't know how long I can leave Fitz. Plus I have work to consider and I haven't even started at The Forum yet, you know?"

He looks over, frowning. "But you _are_ still coming." It's a question disguised as a statement and I stop myself from rolling my eyes, because he looks so sincere. But seriously, does he really think I might back out of my trip to Chicago? Crazy man.

"Of course I'm still coming, Edward. And I'd love to stay longer than a week. I should be able to do a lot online; the police blotter and city council meeting minutes are public record and I can do research for the historical column ahead of time. If I need to interview someone for an event, I could do that by phone. Writing up and sending in copy shouldn't be an issue, but I just won't know how it's going to go until I start work. But I'll try to shoot for ten days, around two weekends, okay?"

"I'm not trying to pressure you, Bella. I know you're concerned about work and it's not like I won't have to work while you're visiting…"

"No, I get it. And I know you'll have to work but I don't mind. I'll do my work while you're at work."

He's wearing his happy face again as he lifts our hands to press mine against his chest—a driver's version of a hug. My arm is at an awkward angle, but it's a good awkward, so I just turn my body to adjust.

"We'll still have the evenings and weekends to do things together," he promises. "And if you'd like company during the day when I'm gone, my mom would be only too happy to show you around."

"Your mom? Really? So your folks know I'm coming to visit you?"

He looks over and rolls his eyes like I'm the crazy one here. "Of course. And they're delighted. My mom…you have no idea... The minute I mentioned you were coming, she started talking itineraries." He shakes his head. "Now that I think about it, she'll probably be beating down my door while I'm at work, to get to you. She'll be only too happy to show you around and visit with you during the day, even if you _don't_ want the company."

His comments make me laugh. "I would do something with your mom. That would be nice. I used to feel shy around her as a teen, but she was always sweet to me. I remember thinking she was _gracious_. One of those words high school kids read, but never actually use? But your mom was always very gracious. Your dad made me uncomfortable, though. I knew he would have preferred I wasn't in the picture."

Edward looks over, lips parted. I wonder if he's as surprised by my admission as I am that I voiced it. He shakes his head as his mouth flattens in a straight line and his eyes fill with regretful understanding.

"I'm really sorry he made you feel that way, Bella." His thumb rubs across my knuckles, soothingly. "Trust me, it was never anything personal. Dad didn't dislike you, or look down at you in any way, he just worried my goals and academics could get derailed, if I was in a serious relationship." There's a sudden little glint in his eyes. "Then I derailed all on my own, jumping all that track he'd helped lay down. I think I felt like I had gotten even with him, you know, for moving and everything." I nod. He shrugs. "Then I found a new track, graduated on time, and proved I was as responsible as he'd always hoped.

He doesn't mention it, but I'm sure Carlisle Cullen was only more aware of how responsible his son was when he married his pregnant girlfriend, became a father at twenty-two, and raised his son mostly on his own—all while attending law school and starting his career.

Edward looks back over with a little smile, "Do you have any idea how intimidated I felt, dating Chief Charlie Swan's daughter?"

I smile at him. Yeah, that can't have been easy. Not that it stopped us from sneaking around and doing most things teens do.

He chuckles, shaking his head at some thought.

"That first night I took you out—after the baseball championship game—I was sweating bullets telling your dad where we were going and who was going to be there and what time I'd bring you home… Even though I'd talked to him before, I was so nervous that evening. He looked so stern. And shrewd. Like he was trying to read my thoughts, looking for motive."

I giggle, thinking about Dad's cop face and Edward's admission. I glance into the backseat before speaking, to make sure Masen isn't tuned in, before quietly voicing my next question. "Were you having impure thoughts about his daughter?" I ask, stifling my laughter.

He glances into the rearview at his son before answering. "I was seventeen, Bella. What do _you_ think?" His eyes shine with a wicked gleam, and that's it, I'm laughing. And blushing.

"Well, I was having the same thoughts about you."

His eyes sparkle as he gives me a cocky grin. "I kind of thought so."

He laughs. "You know…the guys used to give me crap, asking if The Chief regularly frisked me and gave me the third degree." I giggle at the thought of Dad frisking poor Edward. Of course that never happened.

"What did you tell them?"

He shrugs. "I told them yes, all the time, but it was _so_ totally worth it." He gives me a sexy smirk and I loosen my hand from his to smack him on the shoulder.

"I'm kidding!" he laughs, his hand following mine over to my lap, grabbing it up again and linking our fingers together. "It would have been worth it if he had."

"You're crazy," I say, shaking my head.

He grins, tilting his head as he nods, allowing that it's true as he gives my hand a squeeze. "For you."

I squeeze back, stuck on what he just said. He's crazy for me. Unless he means he behaves crazily for me. Because he certainly does. But maybe it's both. I want both. I want this crazy boy to be crazy about me. I cherished that experience the first time around. I cherished him then and I still do.

My phone chimes, interrupting my thoughts, and I look down at it, forgotten in my hand.

**Did I tell Jess the wrong thing? :(**

"Oh, gosh. I never replied to Angela's last text and now she's worried she blew it." Quickly I type a response.

**No, what you told her was fine. Sorry you had to deal with her and sorry for the delay. I got sidetracked.**

I reach down to put my phone back into my purse but it chimes again.

**I'll just bet you were sidetracked. ;) How is…every little thing?**

Thankfully I didn't start reading this conversation out loud. And I'm certainly not about to start.

***rolls eyes* Every little thing is wonderful. We slept together (mostly chastely) last night and are getting a room together tonight (much less chastely). ;) How's Fitz?**

Her response is quick and pretty much what I expect, BFF that she is.

**EEEEEEEEEEE! EEEEEEE! Fitz is fine. He blends right in with my own children. But seriously, EEEEEEEEEEE! I'm happy for you, Swan! And him! xo**

"What'd she have to say?" Edward asks as I tuck my phone back in my purse. I don't dare look at him. I just look out the window as I respond.

"She just said she hopes we have a great time in Seattle. And I asked her how Fitz was doing and she said he's fine."

*I*

With about another half hour or so before we reach the Bainbridge Island Ferry dock, Masen rejoins the party.

"Where are we?" he asks with a yawn.

Edward glances in the rearview mirror. "You're still with us, Mase? I thought you fell out of the car somewhere back in Forks." I look over my shoulder to see Masen winding up his headphone cord.

"You thought I fell out, but you didn't stop to check? Gee, thanks, Dad. I see how it is."Stuffing his headphones into his shirt pocket, he looks up, shaking his head as he eyes me dolefully. "After all I've done for him."

I laugh and answer his question. "We're just past Sequim. About another thirty minutes to the ferry." I look at the time on my phone. "We'll have about a twenty minute wait there too, before the 11:30 departure."

"And the ferry ride is another half hour?" he asks.

"A little over," I tell him. "And it takes a while to get off the boat with a car. But hopefully we make it onto the one departing and won't have to wait for the following one. It could be crowded on a Saturday."

He sighs and mashes his lips together, clearly deflated by that bit of news.

"How long from the ferry dock in Seattle until we get to the hotel?" he asks Edward a minute later.

"It's not far. Maybe a half hour by the time we got offloaded and get to where we're going with city traffic."

"So _two hours,_ still?" Masen asks, losing the reins on his impatience. "Plus however long it takes to _check in_?"

Edward looks up in the rearview. "What do you want me to do about it, Masen?" I turn back around and face forward, as Edward continues eyeing his son, clearly telling him to chill out.

"Nothing," Masen mumbles. "Sorry."

I look back at Masen after a bit and smile. "You're just anxious to get to Seattle, huh?" I ask, trying to smooth over the awkward moment.

He blinks as two spots of pink appear on his cheekbones, and he gives me an awkward little half smile. "Yeah."

"He's anxious to see our tour guide," Edward says, looking back up at the rearview mirror, his eyes softer on his son now.

"Dad…" Masen rolls his eyes, slouching a little.

I look at Edward with a frown. "_Tour guide_?"

"Do you remember Bree?" Masen asks, and I nod. "She's going to meet us."

"She is?" I can't help grinning and now he's flushing again. I've embarrassed him with my enthusiasm for him.

"Yeah." He nods. "At Pike Place Market. She got the day off work so we could…hang out. She's going to show us around."

"Aww…that's really nice of her," I tell him, smiling. He nods but he doesn't look totally convinced. But I think get it. This poor boy… Not only is he anxious about seeing this girl he likes and hasn't seen in two months, but he has to do it _with us_. He can't possibly be too thrilled at the prospect of hanging out with her, _with_ his father, and his father's…whatever I am. But knowing Edward and how protective he is, I'm sure he wasn't about to just cut his son loose in an unfamiliar city the minute we arrived. I'm guessing this is their compromise and I feel for both of them.

"I'll keep an eye on your dad and make sure he behaves." I give Masen a wink, earning myself a crooked little grin in return. "You have any problems, you just let me know, Masen."

He chuckles. "Thanks, Bella."

When I glance over at Edward, he's smiling, side-eyeing me. "I can behave," he assures us.

"Yeah, we'll just see about that," I tell him sternly.

"So, what has Bree been up to?" I ask, turning to look back at Masen.

And that's all it takes. For the next half hour we're both entertained. I get various bits of information, a couple stories, and I'm even shown several photos on Masen's phone, and before we know it, we've arrived at the ferry dock on Bainbridge Island.

The line of cars for the 11:30 departure looks long and iffy, and we cross our fingers as we wait, hoping we won't get stuck waiting for the 12:20 departure. Thankfully, we manage to make it through by the skin of our rear bumper, with only three more cars getting onboard behind us.

"Geez, that was lucky," Masen breathes, peering out the back window at the cars left behind at the dock, forced to wait for the next sailing.

We lock up the truck, and climb up to the upper decks, where we can enjoy the view as the boat gets underway. We brave the wind out on deck, but with the two of them on either side of me, the chill is bearable—at least for a little while.

"We really lucked out with this gorgeous weather," I tell them. "You rarely get such a clear view of everything."

"It's pretty amazing, isn't it?" Edward asks Masen.

"Yeah, this is awesome," Masen says, taking in the sparkling waters of Puget Sound, the famous Seattle skyline across Elliott Bay, and snow-capped Mount Rainier in the distance.

"There's your new home," I tell Masen, nodding across the bay. "Are you worried about living away from home?"

"Not really. I think it'll be an adventure. Like I'm at summer camp. Then I go back home for a month. I think when the regular school year hits, I'll feel more like I'm there for the long haul, you know?"

I nod. "But you'll go home—like Thanksgiving and Christmas, and then spring break."

"Yeah," he says. "Unless Dad comes here." He grins knowingly and looks past me to his father.

Edward shrugs, smiling. "That could certainly happen."

I laugh. "Well, I can certainly cook a holiday meal, if required."

We take photos of the scenery and each other, finishing with a series of silly selfies of all three of us together at the railing, with Seattle in the background.

"I'm going to head into the galley and get something to drink," Masen says. "You guys want anything?"

"Coffee?" Edward suggests, looking at me questioningly.

"Sure, I'll take a coffee." I look at Masen. "With cream and sugar?" He nods at my request.

"Make it two. Here," Edward tells him, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and handing him some cash.

As Masen leaves my side, the cold wind hits me and I pull my sweater close with a shiver. Edward moves behind me, wrapping his open jacket and arms around me, shielding me from the wind and holding me against the warmth of his body.

"Better?" he asks, pressing his cheek against the side of my head.

"Wonderful," I answer, turning my head to smile at him.

He brushes my hair over to the other side, leaning in to kiss my cheek. Tipping his head down, his lips move to the side of my neck, just above my collarbone, where he plants another couple kisses. As he pulls back, I feel his cold fingertips on the opposite side of my neck. And then I see he's looking over my shoulder, intently focused on the front of my blouse. Looking down, I see his fingers lifting the chain of my necklace from its hiding place beneath my clothes.

"You wore this?" His voice is soft and surprised as his fingers skim down to the small yellow gold heart charm with the white gold filigree edge, my initials on the front, his on the back.

I'm blushing, found out and flustered by his discovery that I'm wearing the necklace he spotted on the bulletin board in my old bedroom yesterday—the necklace he gave me years ago.

"Yeah. I, um… I put it on my dresser yesterday and this morning, when I was getting dressed…" I shrug. "I thought...maybe it would be nice to have it with me when I head to San Diego tomorrow. Keep you with me a little longer, you know?" I wonder if he thinks I'm silly and sentimental, but when I glance up, all I see are warm green eyes. He turns me in his arms to face him and pulls me close with a soft humming sound in his throat.

"I like that thought," he murmurs with a kiss to my temple. "I just wish it were me hanging from that chain." I smile, sliding my arms around him and up his back beneath his jacket.

Masen returns a few minutes later, juggling a soda for himself and two coffees for us, and we decide to head inside and look for a seats out of the wind, before our hot coffees turn into ice coffees.

"You mind if I take a walk around a little?" Masen asks between sips of his drink.

Edward shakes his head. "Just make sure you come back when we get close. And don't fall overboard."

Masen rolls his eyes. "I won't. I just want to see if I can balance on the railing." We're both chuckling as he heads off.

"I sure hope that was sarcasm," Edward says, looping his arm around my shoulders.

"Yeah, I doubt you have anything to worry about. I'm pretty sure he wants to make it all the way to Seattle." I shoot him a knowing look.

"Yeah." He nods. "You don't mind, do you? That I told him he could invite Bree to join us?"

"Of course I don't mind. I think that was nice."

He shrugs. "I figured it would be more fun for him and he'd feel less like a third wheel—and we don't have to stick together the entire time. I thought it would buy us a little time to ourselves too."

"Yeah." I nod. It makes sense to me.

Edward reaches up, scratching at his eyebrow. "He wasn't too receptive to the idea at first… _But Dad, I'm eighteen! I'm an adult!" _Edward whines, flailing his arm, mimicking his son. I stifle my laughter as he continues. "But I told him just because he turned eighteen doesn't mean I can stop a lifetime of parenting."

Poor Edward, he's going to have separation anxiety when he has to return to Chicago.

"Anyway, I told him it wouldn't hurt to just ask her and see what she said," he finishes.

"And she was okay with it."

"She was." He nods. "And Mase finally gave in when I promised I wouldn't make him hold my hand the whole time." I burst into laughter and he just grins, scrunching me into his side. "What? I'll be too busy holding yours!" he laughs.

I pat his chest. "Well, you're going to have to get used to the idea of him being on his own here. You managed okay when you went off to school."

"Yeah, I know. I'll try to get there."

*I*

I make it back to where Dad and Bella are sitting in plenty of time and without falling off the boat once. We head back down below decks, to where the truck is parked, and we get in and wait. And then we wait. And we freaking wait some more. I'm so antsy I don't even realize I'm tapping my fingers until Dad gives me the hairy eyeball in the rearview. So I switch to bouncing my knees. Until Bella asks why the car's jiggling and I get another serving of eyeball.

When they say the ferry ride is thirty-five minutes long, that's exactly what it means. Just the ride, not the offload. That takes like another thirty-five minutes. Well, not quite, but still. And of course, since we were one of the last cars on, we're just about the last car off.

Finally we're out of the dock, driving through downtown Seattle, heading for the hotel. I already texted Bree when the boat got in and she's already there. She's been there. For like an hour. Hanging out with her friend, Vicky, and three other friends of theirs, Jen, Kristie, and Michelle. They're keeping her company until we get there.

Finally we get to the hotel—the Inn at the Market—and we leave the truck with the valet, taking our small bags inside with us. I take a seat while Dad and Bella get us checked in. The lobby is nice. I mean, _really_ nice. Way nicer than any of the places Dad and I stayed on our drive out here two months ago. But I'm sure Dad wanted to stay someplace nice tonight because Bella's with us. After she leaves for San Diego tomorrow afternoon, Dad's going to stay someplace closer to campus and I can either stay with him or at the dorm, since I move in tomorrow. We'll see how it goes and play it by ear.

I look back over at the front desk. It looks like Bella's arguing with Dad about who's paying for her room. She's not going to win that argument.

Finally they come back over by me and I stand. Dad says we can't get into our rooms until later in the afternoon. Sounds great to me, because getting into our rooms now would just be another delay. So we check our bags at the front desk. And just when I think we're going to leave, Bella says she needs to run to the restroom. I sit back down on the couch to wait. At least I can bounce my knees and tap my fingers.

"Mase…" Dad says. "It isn't even one thirty and you'll have the whole rest of the day together."

"I know, Dad. It's just that she's already there. I hate keeping her waiting. And I'm starving. Aren't you hungry?" He smiles his fatherly smile and takes a seat next to me.

"I am. We'll get a bite to eat shortly. But just remember, good things come to those who wait." I nod. And I decide not to tell him he sounds like Grandpa.

"I think I'll text her and let her know we're on our way." I take out my phone and thankfully, by the time I'm done texting, Bella is back and we can finally leave.

It's not far. Pike Place Public Market is right down the street on the waterfront, just a stone's throw from our hotel. My phone vibrates in my hand as we head out of the lobby and I read Bree's message and relay it to Dad and Bella.

"She's under the clock, by _Rachel_ _the Pig_?" I look at Bella in confusion and she smiles.

"It's a life-sized bronze piggybank for donations to support social services. It's straight down a little ways inside the entrance."

"Oh." I nod.

She says something softly to Dad as we walk and he's leaning towards her, listening. Then he nods. And turns to me.

"Do you mind if Bella and I stop in a shop while you go meet Bree?" he asks.

"I'll point you in the right direction and you and Bree can come find us in The Corner Market in a couple minutes," Bella says.

She's kind of awesome. I'm guessing this was her idea and she was just running the suggestion by him a moment ago. I kind of want to kiss her—on the cheek of course. I've been in such a hurry I wasn't even thinking straight, but the last thing I want is my dad trailing me when I finally get to see Bree again for the first time. It could be a little awkward as it is.

"Sure. That's fine," I tell them. "Thanks." I meet Bella's eyes again and she winks. Dad doesn't see it but I grin.

When we get to the entrance, she points ahead, showing me where Bree must be waiting with her friends, and then she and Dad peel off into The Corner Market. I keep heading forward, scanning the crowd milling around. It takes a minute, but as I walk closer, I finally see a gaggle of girls, talking and laughing and looking around.

Like a magnet, my eyes are drawn to the pretty girl in the middle. So much prettier in person than the photos I've been looking at for the past two months. She's small and curvy, with skin like caramel and a mass of dark hair piled up on top of her head—because it makes her look taller, she thinks. She turns this way, her eyes searching faces, and suddenly those big dark eyes meet mine and her whole face lights up like the sun. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as she smiles and waves. Her friends cluster closer and she points in my direction, saying something to them. Then she starts walking toward me. The gaggle of girls hangs back, watching and whispering and giggling. My cheeks heat up and I look away, but when my eyes meet Bree's again, I don't mind being under their spotlight.

"You made it!" she says with a big flashing smile when she reaches me.

"Yeah," I smile back at her, shoving my hands into my pockets because I don't know what to do with myself. "Finally. Took a while."

"Well, it's good to see you again, Masen." Her dark eyes sparkle as she fiddles with the strap of her purse. Maybe she doesn't know what to do with herself either.

I grin and nod. "It's really good to see you again, too, Bree."

We must look ridiculous, grinning like loons with all these people wandering past and the gaggle watching our every move. But I kind of don't care. I just wish I knew what to do. Kiss her? Hug her? Just play it cool?

"Can I give you a hug?" she asks shyly. Damn she's so cute.

"Yeah, you can," I chuckle.

Decision made, I scoop her into my arms. And I even steal a kiss. We've waited long enough.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked it and hope you'll let me know.**


	34. For the Second Time

**Indelible**

**A/N: **This was supposed to be quick and I was supposed to reply to reviews. Instead I took a trip, our "Fitz" had a doggy-stroke, I was sick for three weeks, and my meds made me loopy. But I'm better, the dog is better, this is the longest chapter ever, and I just hope you're still out there. :)

To re-cap: Edward and Masen returned to Forks. B and E spent the night together, enjoying some quasi-adolescent sexy fun, while Masen slept downstairs. After driving/ferrying to Seattle, they are now at Pike Place Market, where Masen is meeting Bree…

* * *

**Chapter 34: For the Second Time **

Bella and I are hanging out in the Oriental Mart in The Corner Market, looking at unfamiliar food products while waiting for Masen and Bree.

"It must be show and tell—she's taking him over to meet her friends," Bella says.

"What?" I ask, turning around to see her peeking out the door and across Pike Place. I realize she's watching Masen, walking with Bree. His height makes him easy to pick out in the crowd of shoppers and tourists.

"I thought we were giving them some privacy," I remind her as I close the distance and step up behind her.

"We are! Don't watch!" She turns and grabs me, marching us away from the doorway, and I'm laughing at her.

"How come _you_ got to watch?!" She snorts a laugh—because I think I got her there.

"I couldn't help it," she says. "He's been so cute, waiting to see her."

"He's _cute_?! Should I be worried?" I look at her in mock concern.

"No!" She laughs rolling her eyes at me. "Seriously, have you met that kid's _father_?"

"Good, huh?" I ask, cocking a brow, teasing her, wondering if she'll give me more. Of course she blushes, but she also nods.

"He's the total package," she says. "Insanely attractive, sexy as can be, intelligent, hilarious, incredibly thoughtful, attentive..."

She's cute as hell, blushing like crazy as she speaks. And even though I like hearing how she sees me, I just can't resist teasing her a bit more.

"Well, I hate to tell you this, but you have no chance with him," I tell her.

She blinks. It's obviously not the response she expected. "I don't?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Have you met that kid's father's _girlfriend_?" I can't hold back my grin. I just hope I'm not jumping the gun here, but in my mind, she's definitely my girlfriend.

"He's got a _girlfriend_?!"

The joke's on me, because that's not the response I expected either. I wonder if calling her my girlfriend was a misstep, but then I see the twinkle in her eyes and realize she's just giving me a hard time.

Pursing my lips and narrowing my eyes, I scratch at my jaw, like I'm deliberating. "I'm pretty sure he has a girlfriend," I tell her, hedging my bets. "Talk about the total package… She's a lovely brunette, sexy as can be, intelligent, hilarious, incredibly thoughtful, attentive..." She's laughing as I recite the same attributes but they're all true. She's perfect. Maybe I should have mentioned that attribute as well.

"Well, she and her _boyfriend_ sound perfect for each other," she says, answering the unspoken question in the air and making my heart do a flip in my chest.

"I think so, too." I smile down at her beautiful and expressive brown eyes. She's just so lovely. And I'm so lucky. I feel so much for this woman. Pulling her close, I kiss her on the forehead.

When I look up, I see Masen and Bree entering the shop.

"Speaking of that cute kid you mentioned earlier… Here he comes now. And he's not alone."

*I*

Once Bree and I get in our hugs and I sneak a quick kiss, she says she wants to introduce me to her friends before they take off. Her skin is like honey but her cheeks are slightly pink. She sounds a little breathless. I'm kind of breathless, too. I really like this girl. And I'll admit I'd have liked more of a kiss, but there are people everywhere, and keeping my physical reaction in check would have become an impossible and embarrassing issue.

If I'm going to go meet her friends, that's not the first impression I want to be remembered for.

She grasps my wrist but I slide my arm up to take her hand, and her dark eyes sparkle as she smiles up at me. I'm grinning at her. I can't suppress it. I'm just so happy to finally see her and I think she feels the same way.

When we get to her little girl-crew, I say hi to Vicki, who I already know, and then Bree introduces me to Kristie, Jen and Michelle. I've seen them in photos. They're all cute girls but they've got nothing on Bree. She's definitely the prettiest one. At least to me.

The girls are kind of giggly. I know they're checking me out. My friends, Alec, Marcus, and Felix, would be doing the same, if I were introducing them to Bree. Without the giggling, of course. They'd be joking around instead, and posturing, trying to make me look bad, trying to make themselves look good.

Jen tells me they've all been curious to meet Bree's Mystery Man from Chicago. Kirstie says something about how they wanted to meet Bree's "superhero." Bree looks kind of embarrassed, but I just smile. They've obviously heard the whole "rescue on Second Beach" story about how we met, and how Bree's cousins were calling me Bree's "superhero" at the bonfire that night. I guess the nickname stuck after I'd piggybacked her up and down the beach and took care of her cut foot and sprained ankle.

But I like knowing she's been talking about me to her friends.

It's not like my own friends haven't heard me talking about her. And they've seen photos. They think she's hot. They've also given me crap about being long-distance-whipped by a girl I spent one afternoon and evening with. But I don't care. She's fun and easy to talk to and we've talked a lot over the past two months.

And I'm here now, standing next to her, watching her, listening to her, and talking with her and her friends. Live and in person. It feels amazing.

I tell her friends it was nice meeting them and I'll probably see them around. They agree, but then Vicki says that's provided they get to see much of Bree in the near future. They all giggle at that and I can't help chuckling when Bree looks a little flustered again. As we walk away, she tells me her friends can be so embarrassing sometimes. I just laugh and tell her Alec, Marcus or Felix would be way worse. Then I put my arm around her shoulders. Because I can. And that's pretty damn awesome.

I ask if she ate lunch but she says no, she was too hyper, waiting for me to get here, to be able to eat. I smile and tell her I was feeling the same way, but nothing affects my ability to eat, and she laughs. So I tell her I think lunch is the plan now, but we don't have to eat with my dad and Bella if she'd rather not.

She looks at me like I'm crazy, saying of course she doesn't mind. Then she adds that my dad is cool and Bella seems nice.

Bree already knows Dad a little from the night the bonfire got rained out and we all hung out together in the hotel. But she only met Bella that day on the beach—before Dad and Bella were _Dad and Bella_. So I tell her, yeah, Bella's really cool.

We walk into the Oriental Mart where I left Dad and Bella, and I spot them right away. They're definitely _Dad and Bella_. His arms are around her and he just kissed her on the forehead. But then he notices me and Bree heading their way, and he must tell Bella because she turns and smiles at us.

"Hey," Dad says in greeting. And even though everybody already knows who everybody is, I do quick reintroductions. It's the polite thing to do, and Dad and the Grands raised me to do the polite thing.

"Bree, you remember my dad and my dad's…girlfriend…Bella…?" I really didn't think this through. I hope I wasn't supposed to introduce Bella as _Miss Swan_, but calling her that feels weird. And if she isn't Dad's girlfriend, they sure could have fooled me. Fortunately, nobody looks offended, and they're already saying their hellos, so I guess that was fine.

Dad tells Bree we're looking to get a quick bite to eat and asks if she has any suggestions. She gives us a handful of choices and we decide on Pike Place Chowder. As we walk over to the restaurant, Dad and Bella chat a little with Bree and I mostly watch her interacting with them. I'm just glad she seems comfortable with this.

Waiting in line at the restaurant, she tells them about the café where she's working, trying to earn some spending money for U-Dub in the fall. We talk about me moving into the dorm tomorrow and starting summer session later in the week. I tell her Bella went to U-Dub, too, and Bree asks about her major. The conversation moves from journalism, to the newspaper Bella worked at in Port Angeles, and her job coming up in Forks.

Bree asks Dad if he's looking forward to spending the next few days here in Seattle. Dad says yes, he's got to get me settled in, but it's always nice to have a little vacation time off from work.

She already knows about his job at the State's Attorney's office in Chicago, but now I tell her how he might be the next Assistant Director of the Victim and Witness Assistance Unit. Dad plays it off, saying it's not a sure thing, and now I'm wondering if maybe I wasn't supposed to mention it. Clearly this is the first Bella has heard of it, because she's asking him questions about it. Maybe he wanted to wait and tell her when it was a done deal.

We wander around Pike Place Market after lunch. It's acres of historic district, built on streets and alleys overlooking the waterfront. There are multiple levels filled with fish markets, farmers' markets, bakeries, restaurants, stores, artists and even street performers. We could spend an entire day here, but we only have a few hours, so we split up to explore what interests us. And spend some time alone.

Awesome-and-then-some.

After a couple hours, we meet up and head over to the hotel. Our rooms are ready by now, so we can take our bags up and drop off the few things we bought today. Bree wants to wait in the lobby, so I tell her I'll make it quick.

When we get to our floor, Bella heads down the hall and Dad and I head to our room. It overlooks Pike Place Market and it's nicer than any hotel room I've stayed in before. I ask Dad which bed is mine and he hesitates…finally saying they're both mine…technically…because he's going to be staying with Bella tonight.

It's an awkward moment. We both know he and Bella won't just be telling each other bedtime stories tonight.

Dad really hasn't dated much—even with Renata Demetri trying to set him up with everyone she knows. And he's never been overt about whatever he's done with whomever he's done…_whatever_…with. So this is different.

But I think Dad's way overdue for somebody really special. And judging by the way he looks at her sometimes, maybe Bella's the one. Like when I saw him kiss her in that shop—I've never seen him look at anyone like that. And she looks at him the same way. Maybe it's because they have history, but I think it's more than that. I think he loves her. Maybe a part of him always has. And maybe it's the same for Bella.

So, I just shrug and tell him that's fine with me, I don't mind staying by myself and he should spend whatever time with her he can, since they won't see each other again for a while. I also tell him I think Bella's great. Because I do. And she definitely makes him happy.

Then I tell him I'm going to head back downstairs because I don't want to keep Bree waiting.

*I*

While Edward takes Masen to his room, I head to ours—Edward's and mine. It really hits me as the door closes behind me. And though the floor-to-ceiling windows must offer an incredible view, I can't tear my eyes away from the king-sized bed in the room. Just looking at it makes me jittery. I can't help thinking about tonight. And the _reckless abandon_ while _not-sleeping_ with Edward.

It'll be our second first time.

Walking through the room, I peek into the bathroom and brush my hand across the bed as I move to the windows. The view is spectacular, and as I stand there admiring it, I hear the sound of a key card in the lock of the door.

I turn to see Edward pushing the door open. He looks at me and then his eyes move about, taking in the room. And the bed. And me. And my bags—still standing near the door. I can see him swallow as he looks up, his brow furrowed.

"Is this…_okay_?" he asks hesitantly. With the uncertainty I see in his eyes, I don't think he's asking about my room preferences. I'm guessing it has more to do with my unpacked bags still standing by the door.

"Edward, this is _more_ than okay," I reassure him, hoping he knows I'm not talking about the room.

His eyes don't leave mine as sets his things down. "You sure?"

I look at him pointedly as he walks across the room to me, and I smile. "Very sure."

A smile of relief lights up his face and he pulls me into a hug. "Good," he murmurs. "I am, too."

Yeah, neither of us was referring to the room.

Fisting the back of his jacket, I stretch up on my toes and kiss him. When I pull away we're smiling at each other and our mutual happiness.

"This room is so nice," I tell him. "And the view is beautiful."

"It is," he agrees, and his gaze doesn't even flicker to the window. Swoony man.

"Well, I quite like the view in here, too," I tell those beautiful green eyes of his, "but the view outside the window is also nice." He chuckles, keeping an arm around me as he pulls me along to look out at the sparkling waters of the bay.

"This is very nice," he says.

"This really is." I sigh, resting my head against his shoulder. He kisses the top of my head and rests his cheek there. I think he knows I'm not referring to the view at the moment.

"I thought you were going to unpack," he says.

"I meant to, but I got distracted. Are we keeping Masen waiting?"

"No, we've got time. Mase already sprinted back down to the lobby."

I laugh. I'm sure it was more of a fast jog.

We take a couple minutes to unpack our few things, and a short while later, we're waiting for the elevator to head downstairs.

"What's the plan now?" I ask, tucking my hand in his as the elevator arrives.

"A little sightseeing and dinner with a view. Then I thought we'd come back here to the rooftop deck and try that bottle of wine I bought. Sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

He pushes the button for the lobby, and then drapes his arms around my waist. "Has this been okay? You know, double-dating with a couple of eighteen-year-olds?"

"Of course! This has been fun. Bree is such a nice, friendly girl, and Masen has been so…"

"Completely_ besotted_?" Edward offers.

I giggle. "Yeah. That. But I think Bree might be, too. But you can't blame them. They've been crushing on each other long-distance for a while."

Edward's smile softens. "Yeah. And I know what that's like. And I'll admit to being besotted, too."

I smile. And I can feel myself blush a little. Holding his sweet lovely face in my hands, I stretch up to peck him on the lips. "Well, that makes four of us," I tell him as the elevator dings.

Collecting our besotted eighteen-year-olds from the lobby, we head off for the next leg of our adventure.

Walking a few blocks, we take the Monorail to the Space Needle. At least that's what I assume, until Edward points me in the direction of Chihuly Garden and Glass. And I'm thrilled. I've never been there, but I've seen beautiful photos.

We walk through the main building and atrium, and then out to the garden, oohing and ahhing at the beautiful and amazing glass sculptures.

Halfway through the garden, I get a call from my mom.

"I should take this," I tell Edward. "It's probably about tomorrow,"

"No problem," he assures me, and then he lets Masen know we'll catch up. Meanwhile I answer the call.

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"_Hi, baby! I just wanted to make sure you're all set for tomorrow." _

"Yeah. I'm good to go."

_Perfect. And I double-checked—your name is on both the hotel and rental car reservations, so you shouldn't have any problems getting there ahead of me."_

"Great. Thanks for doing that, Mom."

"_Of course. So… Did Edward and his son make it there okay yesterday?"_

I glance at Edward, waiting a few feet away. "Yeah. No problems."

"_Aaaand? How's Edward? I want to hear everything."_

I roll my eyes and glance at Edward again. He's starting to smirk. He can't hear Mom, but he knows her. He's met her. And he's watching me. He's smart enough to figure this out.

"Everything is fine," I tell my mother, not quite answering, hoping she'll catch on.

"_Is he right there?"_

"Yes."

"_Oh, I see. But everything is good between you two?"_

"Yeah, just great." I say it with as little inflection as possible, trying not to tip Edward off to the fact that he's the entire gist of this conversation. But he's smirking anyway. Annoying, intelligent man.

"_I'm so glad! I'm just sorry our trip cuts things short for the two of you."_

"I know. That's okay, Mom. It couldn't be helped." I'm actually sorrier than she is, but I don't want to hurt her feelings.

"_Well, I didn't mean to interrupt you and Edward, so I'll let you go. But tomorrow night I want to hear all about your romantic tryst together."_

And I'm face-palming now. "Yeah, I'll…see you tomorrow evening, Mom."

"_Bye, baby."_

I toss my phone back in my purse, shaking my head.

"So… Did she happen to ask about me?" Edward inquires as we continue along the path. He actually _giggles_ his inquiry.

"You really need to ask?" He guffaws outright and I smack him on his fine butt. Then I decide to share. "She did say she wants to hear all about our _romantic tryst_."

His cheeks turn a delicious pink as he snorts a laugh. "Well, Renee always was an especially _inquisitive_ woman. Did she happen to ask if we were going to…_be safe_?"

"Not this time," I assure him as we both burst into laughter.

It's a hideous memory we share…

*I*

In the summer after his freshman year at Dartmouth, Edward flew with me to Jacksonville, to visit Mom and Phil for a week. We were halfway to their house from the airport, when Mom asked us if we were "_having relations and being safe_." Phil barked out a startled, "_Reneeee_!" I shrieked "_Motherrrr_!" and Edward looked like he was contemplating exiting the moving vehicle.

Mom announced that she just wanted to know whether to put us both up in the guestroom together. Then she smiled at Edward and me, waiting for our answer on her previous question.

It was a godawful experience. But after a hissed, private conversation with Mom when we got home, Edward and I wound up in the guestroom together. But it took another three nights before he was even willing to _consider_ touching me in their home.

*I*

Once we catch back up to Masen and Bree, we head over to Seattle's most famous landmark—the Space Needle.

Edward went with his parents when they first moved to Washington, Dad took me the summer before I turned ten, obviously it's Masen's first time, but Bree has been numerous times with visiting relatives. She starts telling Masen what she knows about the Space Needle's history and he's completely attentive and interested, but she could probably be reading the phonebook and he'd be equally as attentive and interested.

Heading up to the observation deck in the elevator, Bree tells Edward she's never eaten in the rotating restaurant up top before, so she's really looking forward to that.

"We're having dinner up here?" I ask in surprise.

Edward shrugs, smiling. "It's kind of a touristy thing to do, but I thought we'd give it a try."

"I think it sounds exciting," I tell him.. And then I laugh. "When you said we'd be having dinner with a view, you weren't kidding!"

"Nope," he smiles. "We'll have 360 degrees of view from 500 feet in the air."

On the observation deck, we take some photos of us in the foreground and Seattle and as far as the eye can see in the background. Edward and I exchange a few smiles as Bree points out the surrounding area to Masen, including places she's gone camping with family: Elliott Bay and the surrounding islands, the Olympic and Cascade Mountains, Mount Rainier, and Mount Baker. I'm sure Masen is adding to his mental list of future hikes and daytrips and I doubt he'll be making those trips alone.

Seated at a window in the restaurant a short while later, we have an amazing view. But I'm stressing over the menu. I picked up the tab for lunch, but Edward insisted dinner would be his treat. It turns out he'll be dropping over three hundred dollars on our pricy, three-course, prix fixe meal. Yikes. The dinners do include our observation deck visit, but still…yikes. He must have already been aware of the cost though—organized planner that he is—because he looks totally unconcerned when I try to subtly convey my alarm at the expense. He just smiles and shrugs as he reaches for my hand.

"Special occasion," he murmurs. The way he says it makes my heart flutter. Much of what we've done today has really been for his son's benefit, but the smoldering look in his eyes tells me the _special_ _occasion_ he's referring to will be happening between the two of us, later tonight. I'm having heart-palpitations already just thinking about the romantic trysting, reckless abandoning, and not-sleeping.

As the four of us talk and eat our pricey but rather good meals, the restaurant does a slow, full revolution, giving us a 360-degree view of Seattle. We watch the sky fade from daylight into sunset and twilight, and the lights of Seattle begin blinking on. And by the time we leave at nearly nine-thirty, we are treated to a gorgeous view of the city by night.

Masen and Bree sit somewhere behind us on the Monorail ride back. Bree has to be at work early tomorrow for the breakfast shift, so their time together is winding down, though I expect they'll be seeing a lot of each other in the coming weeks.

Walking back to the hotel, Bree thanks us profusely for including her in our day. Edward tells her we're glad she was able to join us. I tell her I hope to see her again, wishing her a good rest of the summer and start at U-Dub. Masen tells her he'll walk her back to her car at Pike Place Market. And after saying our goodbyes, Edward and I head into the hotel.

We stop by our room to pick up our wine and two glasses and Edward grabs his zip-up sweatshirt in case I need an extra layer of warmth.

Only a handful of people are scattered about up on the fifth floor deck, braving the chilly night air and taking in the view. Edward and I claim a cozy couch beneath a space heater.

"It's nice up here," I tell him. "I forgot how noisy a city can be, but it's pretty, looking down at the lights and waterfront."

"Yeah, it's not as quiet as Forks, is it?" He smiles as he pours our wine.

I'm glad he thought to buy it. We skipped wine at dinner but a glass or two now might help calm my nerves. It's the anticipation. The mental foreplay. Because every time I've looked at him today, or caught him looking at me, I've thought about where this evening is headed…figuring he's probably thinking about that, too.

"Cheers," he says, handing me my glass and looping his arm around my shoulders.

"To a lovely day," I reply, clinking my glass to his before taking a drink.

I think about how thoughtfully he planned today. He took his son sightseeing but still gave him the opportunity to spend the day with Bree. And though we've spent much of the day with them, we had some time alone, too, and I feel like we just had the best day together.

"You made this such a perfect day for all of us," I tell him. "Thank you."

He smiles. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I feel like we did a lot."

I nod. "We did. I just wish you would have let me contribute more. It's been a very expensive..." I don't get any farther. Edward leans in, planting his lips on mine, kissing me. When he pulls back afterwards, I laugh at the sneaky twinkle in his eyes.

"I told you not to worry about it, Bella." He takes another sip of his wine.

"I know, but I can't help it…Chihuly…our dinners…and this hotel...everything had to cost…" The lips are back and I giggle as he kisses me. Until he brings the tongue. This is seriously the best way to shut me up and make his point.

I grin at him afterwards. "So, all I have to do, if I want you to kiss me, is mention the cost of…" He's back and we're chuckling into each other's mouths. And then we're laughing less, concentrating more on kissing. He seriously has the best mouth on him. And lips. And tongue.

"Now, drink your wine, woman, and let me breathe," he says when he pulls away, his mouth curling up in a little smirk.

I laugh and snuggle into his side, pulling my feet up and throwing his sweatshirt over my legs. We sip our wine and enjoy each other's company and our random conversations interspersed with comfortable silences. Somewhere in there, we polish off our first glass of wine and Edward refills our glasses.

He gets a text from Masen, letting him know he's on his way back. He's been gone a while, and since the walk was a short one, I'm guessing their goodbye was a long one. Edward lets him know we're on the rooftop, if he wants to come up, and a short while later Masen appears.

He visits for a couple minutes, telling us he and Bree had a really great time and he asks if we had fun. His question makes me smile. He's such a nice, sweet boy. Just like his father was. We assure him we really enjoyed ourselves. Then he asks about the plan for tomorrow, and once Edward gives him the rundown, Masen says he's going to head down to his room to watch TV, and he'll see us in the morning. We tell him goodnight, and surprisingly, the moment really doesn't feel awkward, like I would have imagined.

A few minutes later, Edward and I finish the last of our wine and head back inside.

"Ladies first?" Edward offers, gesturing to the bathroom once we're back in our room.

"Oh. Sure. Thanks." I hand him his sweatshirt and duck into the bathroom to get ready for bed. And for Edward. And despite two glasses of wine, the butterflies are back, fluttering and flapping and flocking in my stomach. This is happening. It feels momentous and I'm jittery.

And I can't decide whether to undress or stay dressed. Maybe I should have grabbed my pajamas for that happy medium.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Edward turns away from the window. He's barefoot, in his jeans and white T-shirt, jacket and button-down shirt removed. And I'm relieved I'm still dressed.

"Did you need to…?" I point to the bathroom and he nods.

"Yeah. I'll just be a moment." He gives me an awkward little smile as he passes me, and I could be projecting my own butterflies, but I think maybe he's a little nervous about our second first time, too.

He already turned down the bedding and put bottled waters on each nightstand. Glancing at the door, I see the Do Not Disturb sign is missing from the inside, so it must be on the outside. I smile as I slip off my shoes and hang up my cardigan. He's still planning and organizing.

But he did leave the lights on, and I'm no longer a nineteen-year-old girl.

Turning off the bedside lamps, I try the desk lamp, but turn it off again, finally leaving just the small entry hall lit. Combined with the lights coming in through the windows from the waterfront below, I think this is perfect.

Soft lighting is an almost-forty-year-old's best friend.

Taking off my blouse, I'm down to my pants and camisole and I'm indecisive once again. Naked? Dressed? Pajamas? I pluck my pajamas from the drawer and I frown. They're nothing special and tonight really is. Not that I actually own anything nicer than cotton pajamas but I could have bought something pretty today.

Edward exits the bathroom. He looks pleased with the change in the room's ambience but his smile falters when he sees my expression.

"What's wrong?" he asks, eyes searching mine as he approaches, smelling of minty toothpaste and manly shaving cream… because he shaved…for _me_…because his beard is a Chia pet and he probably didn't want to give me beard-burn. And I couldn't even think to buy something pretty to wear to bed for him.

"Bella, what's wrong?" he asks again.

"I don't have anything…_attractive_…to wear for you." I hold up my cotton pajama shorts and top, proving my point.

His eyes are so beautiful and soft as his crooked smile takes over his sweet, smooth-shaven face.

"Well, I don't have anything _attractive _to wear to bed either," he says with a little grin. I'm smiling already.

"Sleepwear is over-rated," he continues, "and I'm already incredibly attrac_ted_, so I don't see a problem. I don't want fabric, Bella. I want you. Just you," he finishes, simply and swoonily.

All he wants is _me_…_just me_.

I'm more than willing to give him that.

I smile, tossing my superfluous pajamas over my shoulder, and he chuckles as he gathers me close. I caress his smooth-shaven cheek as he kisses me, and when his tongue invades and slowly claims, I know this is all we need… just me with just him.

He gazes down at me, his eyes warm and dark. "I always missed you...so much," he murmurs. I know he doesn't just mean these past two months, and his quiet confession catches me by surprise. It touches me, hearing that he felt like I did.

"I really missed you, too," I whisper, holding him close.

"I never imagined this…you know? Being together again… I feel extraordinarily lucky."

"Me, too. Being with you again… It's hard to describe. It feels like…."

"Like coming home," he says, more of an observation than a suggestion. But he's right.

"Yeah. Like that," I agree, smiling at him, stroking my fingertips down his strong jaw.

"Thank you for giving me the chance to know you again." He presses a soft kiss to the corner of my mouth, and I turn my head, capturing his lips with mine. I swallow down the lump in my throat, thinking about the day he came back—when I tried _not_ to open the door and thankfully didn't succeed.

"I'm not sure I could have done otherwise," I tell him between kisses.

My heart was always his. Maybe it was just hoping and waiting. And somehow he found his way back…and I did open that door.

His lips trail kisses down to my neck and then he's nipping and sucking. I slip my hands beneath his shirt, up over his smooth, strong back. I've been wanting this all day—to feel his skin against mine again. He feels so good. And what he's doing to my neck…_so_ good. He's giving me goosebumps. I skim my hands down to the small of his back, pressing him into me, feeling the hard evidence of his desire. And I know he likes how this is feeling too.

"Take this off," I whisper, pushing his T-shirt up over his back and stomach and chest. He obliges me, yanking it over his head. Then he tugs my top off as I lift my arms. He reaches behind me to unclasp my bra, and pulling it down, drops it to the floor.

"Bella…" he breathes, as his gaze falls to my breasts, and to the little heart necklace from so long ago. The first piece of jewelry a boy ever gave me, back when he gave me his own heart, too. I wonder if his mind is flipping through memories. Like photographs. Like mine.

We start on buttons and zippers then, our frantic hands getting in each other's way. With pants and panties and boxers puddled at our feet, Edward steps free of his, and then stoops to free me from mine. With my hand on his shoulder for balance, he looks up, his eyes traveling the length of me.

"You're still so beautiful," he murmurs, making me blush, making me feel desired. All over again.

"You are, too," I tell him as he stands.

His lips twitch in amusement—at me calling him _beautiful_, I guess. But standing there, all lean and muscled, erect and ready to go, the truth is, he's more stunning than ever.

It's strange to think…we know each other's bodies. And yet we don't. We knew the beginnings of these bodies—the lanky frame of his youth and the skinny girl I was. And I always thought Edward had a beautiful form, but this filled-out version of him… He's like a living sculpture of some classical god.

And it appears he must like this naked, adult version of me, too, because he's clearly quite…_happy_…to see me.

Maybe the soft lighting helps. Or maybe I didn't need it at all.

He smiles as he firmly grasps my hips in his hands and back-walks us to the bed. I squeal a little "whoop" when he pulls me down with him as he falls, worrying I'll crush his manly goods.

"I've got you," he laughs. And he does. In more ways than one. But his goods are good, and we're both good—though we laugh a little as he struggles to maneuver us more centrally on the bed.

"I probably could have done that more smoothly," he admits, leaning back on piled pillows, as he pulls me up to straddle him. I smile at him, stretched out beneath me—loving how he laughs at himself, and happy his moves might not be too perfected.

"We can practice mounts and dismounts," I tell him, cringing instantly at my choice of words. He tries not to laugh but he can't hold it in. But a laughing, naked Edward is glorious, and the way he's looking at me—like my mind is a marvel—I'm glad I can keep him entertained.

"Let's focus on the _mounts_," he suggests with a boyishly naughty grin, bucking his hips up beneath me. I laugh at his expression—an endearing combination of wicked and sweet and silly.

"Let's focus on _this_ mount," I counter, smiling as I roll my hips over him—because I can be a little wicked too.

His lips part and the laughter in his eyes is replaced by a smoldering look. I can feel him grow harder beneath me as I move, and the friction ignites a fire. His strong hands skim up my thighs, grasping my hips and behind. As he guides my movements over him, his gaze flickers down to my parted legs. He watches us for a moment. Then his eyes travel up to my face and down to the sway of my breasts. He reaches up to cup and tease, and I gasp and arch into his hands. Pulling me forward he leans up, and I moan with pleasure at the feeling of his warm, wet mouth on me.

"I love that sound," he murmurs, sucking and teasing. He nuzzles and kisses his way over to the other breast, and when he latches on I moan again. Threading my fingers through the hair at the back of his head, I hold him to me as I grind my hips.

Sliding back on his thighs, I snake my hand between us, gripping his hot, hard length. His breath stutters in his throat, his head falling back on the pillows, as I start to caress and stroke.

"So good, Bella…" he growls between soft grunts, his hooded eyes flickering to mine with a gleam. His lifts his head and he watches, until he can't, and his eyes flutter closed.

He stops me after a few moments, pulling me down over his chest to kiss me. And then he turns us to the side, and rolls me onto the bed.

"I want you to feel good," he murmurs, moving back over me, kissing me. And then his hands, lips, mouth and tongue begin a slow and delicious descent down my body.

"Oh God… Edward…" I sigh, looking at him—his face and hand between my legs, his mouth on me, watching me. He's good at this. So good at this. I'm swept away in currents of pleasure. And as the heat and intensity build, he reaches for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. Catching me by surprise.

It's a familiar and intimate gesture from so long ago, and I am suddenly flooded with such longing for the boy who used to love me and the lovely man he's become.

I've missed him.

Being with him.

Feeling him.

I want him.

I'm in love with him.

I want _us_.

"Stop… Edward, stop…" I pant, reaching for his face, trying to pull him away, trying to pull him up.

"Just…come here," I urge, my voice shaky.

He moves up the bed, hovering over me, eyes searching mine.

"I want _you_," I tell him, my voice cracking with emotion. "I just want _you_."

His eyes fill with such tenderness. Whispering my name, his body covers mine almost protectively. He kisses me tenderly…lovingly…

And I'm only more overcome.

My arms wrap around him like I might not let go, and with a low oath his arms slide beneath me, clutching my body to his, his cheek pressed to mine.

The moment is so intimate and _reverent_ that my emotions bubble over and my eyes fill with tears. But when Edward looks at me with glittery eyes, I know he's feeling this too.

"I love you, Bella," he says in a husky voice. "I don't know whether I love you _again_ or love you _still_…but I love you."

My lips tremble and my tears overflow. "You _do_?" And I hate that I'm crying. I'm such an ugly crier. But Edward just smiles affectionately and nods.

"And that makes you cry?" He smiles crookedly, soft green eyes watching me as he gently wipes my tears away with his thumb.

"No," I laugh-cry. "Well, yes." I sniffle. "But in a good way." I give him a trembly-lipped, ugly cry-smile. "I love you, too, Edward. Again. Or still. Probably both."

His smile lights up his face. His eyes are so twinkly and sparkly. He's so beautiful. And this feels so amazing. And I just start laughing. I love him and he loves me.

For the second time in our lives.

Or maybe still.

He's chuckling at me as he ducks his head down and his smiling lips meet mine. I might never let him go.

"Make love to me," I whisper against his lips.

"_With_ you," he corrects with a soft smile.

"_With_ me," I agree.

He stretches to the side, his arm reaching for the nightstand drawer. He must have put condoms there. Such an adorable planner.

But I think about a conversation on the rooftop. And this goes against the grain for both of us…but _this_ feels different. And so, as he withdraws the foil package from the drawer, I offer something different. For both of us…

"You don't…have to use one, Edward. Unless you'd rather."

He looks at me, hesitating, for a moment, brows furrowing. He knows I'm covered, but he also knows I've always been extra-cautious. Just like him.

"You sure?" he asks and I nod.

"I want you. Just you…if you'd like that, too."

His eyes flicker with something soft…something…_more_.

"I would. Very much," he says, and I know this is different for him, too.

He settles back in place and when he finally pushes in with a slow, deep thrust, his eyes are on mine. I think we're both memorizing this moment we never expected to have.

A second first time.

His head dips and his lips met mine as he begins to move. Slowly, deeply. I move my hands to the curve of his behind. And rising to meet him, we find our rhythm.

Giving.

Taking.

Wanting.

Needing.

Having.

Loving.

He's whispering against my temple. He wants me. He loves me. I grip his shoulder and the back of his neck, wrapping my legs around him, bringing him closer still. And I breathe against the warm skin of his throat, my fingers twining into his hair.

"You feel so good," I tell him.

"You feel amazing," he replies.

Our pace quickens. Our breaths come faster, harsher. He lifts up, supporting himself, and we look down to where we're joined, watching the thrust and stroke of our bodies. And he's gauging my reactions now, adjusting, driving me closer.

"It's too good…" he exhales. "Not...gonna last…"

I nod. "Almost…" I pant.

His brows pull together in concentration. Determined to hold off. Determined to bring me with him. But I'm already right behind him, chasing the edge he's closing in on.

His face contorts in pleasure, like it's almost too much to bear. He drops down close, his mouth on mine. I reach for his hand, grasping, our fingers lacing, holding tightly. His tempo falters, stumbles, stalls. But with a final thrust and a cry, I'm with him, and we hit the edge and soar.

It's like internal fireworks as jolts and bolts of pleasure shoot through me. As the shocks ebb, his spent body collapses on top of mine and I wrap him up in shaky, twitchy arms and legs.

Hearts racing.

Chests heaving.

Bodies sated.

After a few moments, he lifts his body slightly, making to move off of me. But he feels too good to let go.

"Stay here…" I breathe, keeping him in place.

"I'm too heavy, Bella. I'm smashing you," he says as he catches his breath.

Undeterred, I pull him back down, stroking my fingers through his sweaty hair. "I like your heavy. And it's a good smash." I feel the low vibration of a tired chuckle against my chest.

"You're very smashable," he says, lifting his head with a sweet, dopey smile.

"And you _are_ too heavy," I gasp, realizing oxygen is a necessity and I'm really not getting nearly enough.

He laughs as he shuffles off to my side, collapsing onto the bed.

Lying side by side, we exhale a simultaneous contented sigh. And we laugh at that. He loosely clasps my hand in his. And when I look over with a smile, he's already doing the same.

"What a relief," I tell him. He laughs. It's such a big, happy sound and it's exactly how I feel inside.

"What a _relief_?" he repeats, cocking an eyebrow as he lifts his arm, so I can scoot into his side.

"Mmm-hmm. I was thinking about that all day," I confess, smiling up at him. He snorts a laugh.

"I thought that was just me."

"Nope."

"So, are you feeling _relieved_, now?" he asks, grinning at me, and I laugh.

"Extra-relieved. Thank you. That was…spectacular." He's clearly pleased with my answer. And with himself—there's some manly pride glowing in those green eyes.

"Yeah, it really was," he agrees, kissing my forehead. "It was nice to feel _you, just you_. Thank you for that." I smile at him, glad we did that for the first time ever, although…I really need to go pee and clean up a little.

I excuse myself and head off to the bathroom.

When I return, Edward has pulled up the sheets and comforter. He flips them back for me to scoot in, and then we cuddle up once again.

"How's your neck?" I ask him after a moment.

He lifts his head to look at me for clues. He's totally baffled. "My _neck_?"

"Yeah. Did you get whiplash from my mood swings?"

"Oh." He chuckles, dropping his head back onto the pillow. He pulls me closer, his hands caressing me. "That was totally understandable," he says in a low, gentle voice. "It was a heavy moment."

"Yeah." I nod. "I was expecting…_sex_…but all of a sudden it felt like so much more. So many different emotions all at once. I think it was the past sort of colliding with the present."

He nods. "Yeah, I got that, too." He smiles and reaching his hand up, he brushes my hair back from my face. "I love you," he says.

"I love you, Edward."

We hold each other…smiling…talking…kissing.

And then we move on to round two.

With fewer interruptions.

*I*

I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It's not even five in the morning but I'm awake, just watching her as she sleeps. Curled up next to me, with her hair fanned out over the pillow, her expression is so soft. She looks so young. She's beautiful. And I love her. She's everything. And somehow she loves me—again or still or both.

I can't believe I've regained something so precious, with someone I'd thought lost to me forever.

I don't want to lose her again.

I'm just wishing she didn't have to leave today.

Wishing our time wasn't always so short.

Wishing the distance between us wasn't so great.

Knowing there's only one way around that.

By the time dawn begins to light up the sky, there's something I know I have to do. It's a selfish decision, but I'm hoping I'll be forgiven for making it.

Slipping out of bed, I grab my phone, and scrolling through my contacts, I find the one I'm looking for. I send a text instead of making the call, because of the early hour.

**I know this is short notice, but if it's not too late, I'd like to accept your offer.**

Setting my phone back on the bedside table, I head off to the bathroom.

When I return a few minutes later, I'm surprised I've already gotten a response. But then I remember the time difference.

**Wonderful! Of course it's not too late. It's yours.**

* * *

**A/N: Hmmm… Something to ponder. :)**

**Hope you enjoyed the day in Seattle, moments with Masen, and the second-time sexy-times. I've never had a second first time with a long lost love, so that was hard to write. I can only imagine it would be highly charged with a multitude of emotions. So that's what I went with. I'd love to hear what you thought and what you're thinking—and I promise I'll reply.**

**xo -bannerday **


	35. Seattle to San Diego

**Indelible**

**A/N: Less than three weeks! And I replied to reviews! Miracles do happen!**

* * *

**Chapter 35: Seattle to San Diego**

Sunday morning I wake to the overcast light of day streaming in the windows. The blue skies and sun have both gone into hiding but I don't even care. I have Edward Cullen wrapped around me: an arm beneath my neck, another curled over my stomach, a hand on my boob, and a leg between mine. And though he's still asleep, I'm already being poked in the hip with interest. It's a lovely morning, after the emotionally powerful reconnection of last evening.

Pulling my head back a little, I look up at Edward's face and smile. He looks so young, his features soft and relaxed in sleep, laugh-lines smooth and lips pushed into his little sleep-pout. I stifle a giggle, tempted to mash his pouty lips together with my fingers and kiss them.

I love this man and the boy who is still inside him.

It's amazing, thinking that we've found what we'd lost, and both want to hang onto it. I get butterflies in my stomach at the mere thought. Last night he said he felt so incredibly lucky and I do too. And like he said last night, I feel like I've come home. He feels like home and he's the place I want to be.

I hate thinking about having to leave him today and he's not looking forward to it either. But like I told him late last night before we fell asleep, we'll be together again soon in Chicago and we'll keep in contact in between.

Yesterday in the car, he admitted he'd like to keep me there in Chicago indefinitely when I visit. It seems premature to consider uprooting and moving two-thirds of a continent away at this point. That's such a huge decision, and a big commitment for the both of us, so I'm glad we'll have the next couple weeks to sort through our thoughts and feelings and the possibilities. And maybe by the time I do visit him, we'll be ready to re-visit the idea of something more permanent.

Edward takes a deep breath and begins to stir. He blinks, and as his eyes focus on me watching him and smiling at him, he grins. I don't know what's cuter, his sleep-pout or his sleepy, wake-up-grin. He makes a happy humming sound as he rolls toward me, nuzzling into my neck.

"What an awesome way to wake up," he says with a kiss to my throat.

"With your hand on my boob and your face in my neck?"

He laughs and pulls his head back. "For starters." The sexy, crooked smirk and the dazzling green eyes tell me where this is headed. Not to mention that prominent poke to the hip I'm still getting.

"Are you saying you're trying to _start_ something?" I tease, totally on board with this wake-up call, and already pulling him toward me.

"Or continue something." He smiles, scooting his body over mine, propping himself up on his elbows, poking me with Pokey.

I laugh and pull his beautiful face down to mine. Those sexy green eyes and smiling lips of his are just too far away and Pokey's insistent poking is quite welcome.

And so begins round three, with fewer interruptions than the first time, more playful than the second time, but with those same thrilling whispered words of love and affection from both times.

*I*

We shower together afterwards, knowing we have to keep things under control because there's no time for a fourth time. The fourth time, and as many consecutive times as we can manage, will have to wait until Chicago. We soap and shampoo ourselves and each other, kissing, smiling, laughing, remembering stolen moments from our past, when Dad was gone fishing. Showering together is a nostalgic and tender experience—remembering what we had and delighting in what we have.

Afterwards, we watch each other in the mirror, grinning around foamy toothpaste, as we brush our teeth side-by-side. Such a simple, mundane activity, but I'm busy committing it to memory: wet Edward…flushed from the water's heat…droplets sparkling against pale skin and among dark hairs…a towel wrapped dangerously low on his hips...

He probably thinks I'm flushed from the heat of the shower. He'd be partially correct.

Leaving me in the bathroom to dry my hair, Edward goes to dress. He returns after a few minutes, hair still damp, dressed in a dark gray polo shirt, the soft, worn jeans he had on the day he showed up to mow the lawn at the house, and black Nikes.

"I'm going to head over to Masen's room to make sure he's up and moving," he tells me.

"Sure. I'm almost done with my hair and then I'll get dressed and ready. It won't take me long—maybe twenty minutes."

He kisses me and tells me he'll be back in a little while.

*I*

He's gone longer than I expected. By the time he returns, my hair is dry, and I'm dressed in jeans, a white top, and my own gray Nikes. My overnight bag is packed up and ready to go, with the sporty black zip jacket I wear to yoga draped across the top of it. I've even managed to straighten up the room a little.

He knocks softly before unlocking the door and entering cautiously, leaving the door just slightly ajar. "You all ready to go?" he asks.

I smile. "Yeah, this is my Moving-Masen-Into-His-Dorm-And-Then-Flying-To-San-Diego outfit. What do you think?"

He chuckles, his eyes crinkle with affection. "You're perfect," he says in a low, warm voice, and I can tell those two words aren't just meant for my clothing.

"Uh…Masen is outside..." He nods toward the door. Yikes. My eyes shoot to the bed—yes, I did pull the sheets and comforter up, thank goodness. "He was wondering if you had scissors," Edward continues.

"Scissors? No. But I have a nail clipper. Will that do?"

Edward shrugs. "I have no idea. He won't say why he needs them."

I walk past Edward and open the door to see Masen leaning up against the opposite wall, reminding me of Edward waiting outside my classes in high school. Masen blinks and straightens up with a crooked little smile. He probably expected his father rather than me.

"Good morning, Masen…" I tell him, aware of Edward, right behind me.

"Hey, Bella. Good morning." His eyes sort of twinkle as they travel from me to his dad and back. I can feel my face heating up as he smiles a little more widely, but Masen's face pinks up a little, too.

Yep, we both know I slept with the man behind me last night. Not. Awkward. At all. But there's smiling, rather than mewling, so I think we'll all live.

"So…your dad said you needed _scissors_?" I hurriedly ask, moving us all on with life.

Masen nods, looking hopeful. "Yeah. Do you have some?"

"I just have nail clippers."

He sags a little. "Oh. That won't work."

"What do you need them for?" I ask.

He hesitates, glancing at Edward before looking back at me. "Uh…nothing. Never mind."

Reaching for the door handle, I turn to look back at Edward. "Would you excuse us for a moment?" Edward looks confused and slightly pouty to be left out of the loop, but he steps back, raising both hands, giving up with a roll of his eyes, and I pull the door closer, almost closing it.

"So dramatic," Masen says with a shake of his head and roll of his own eyes. I chuckle to myself. Like father like son.

"I have something for him for Father's Day—well, and for his birthday, too," Masen explains in a low voice. "I need scissors to cut apart those photos we took in that Orange Dracula shop yesterday."

Orange Dracula was an odd little shop, with all kinds of Halloween, goth, rock, pop, punk, varied-culture, retro-kitsch knick-knacks. There was also an old-school photo booth—the kind where you get four photos in a strip.

"Oh. Maybe they have scissors at the front desk downstairs?" I suggest.

Masen's eyes light up. "Oh yeah, huh?" I nod and shrug.

"Tell Dad I'll meet you down in the café for breakfast, okay? I'll just be a few minutes."

"Sure thing."

He takes off, jogging back to his room, and I head back into our room, smiling. And there's Edward, sitting on the bed next to his packed bag. Waiting and pouting. I laugh as I walk over and squish his lips together and kiss them, just like I thought about doing this morning. It doesn't even faze him, he just goes along with it.

"So, what was that all about?" he asks, pulling me down to sit on his lap.

"He has something for you. For Father's Day. I told him they might have scissors at the front desk. He said he'll meet us in the café in a few minutes."

"Oh." He nods. The pout has miraculously disappeared. "I completely forgot it was Father's Day," he says and we both smile—our minds have been elsewhere. But then Edward's expression becomes more serious and somber as he loops his arm around me.

"I'm sorry, sweetie…" he murmurs, rubbing my back soothingly. "I wasn't thinking about…today. You okay?" By the way he's looking me, I know he's thinking about me and my own father—gone just two and a half months now.

I nod and sigh. "Yeah. Just don't make me teary," I warn him. He smiles sympathetically.

"I celebrated Father's Day the day before you guys rolled into town," I tell him. "Fitz and I went to the cemetery and I took some flowers from the yard—a few roses Dad and I had planted. I also took a can of Rainier Ale."

"You did?" He smiles softly, tucking my hair back behind my ear.

"Yeah. I took a sip, poured a little out for him, took another sip, you know... We visited. I told him I'd be with you in Seattle today. I'm sure he's fine with that." I smile at him and he hugs me close, kissing me tenderly on the cheek. "Don't make me cry," I remind him. "My mascara will float away."

"Okay." He pulls back and grasps my hand. "You ready to go eat?" he asks, switching gears—for which I'm grateful.

"Yeah." He pats my behind as I stand, and we head down to Bacco Cafe in the hotel's courtyard.

*I*

Shortly after Edward and I are seated and have ordered coffees and juice for the three of us, Masen appears at the entrance. Edward flags him down and Masen heads for our table, wearing a mission-accomplished grin. He's carrying a small shopping bag from J &amp; J Sportswear in Pike Place—reminding me of something I saw in their store window yesterday, but didn't have the guts or grounds to buy. But after last night, I have both, so I'm thinking maybe I'll dash back over there before we leave for U-Dub.

"Happy Father's Day," Masen says, giving Edward a brief, one-armed hug. "I should have told you that earlier, when you came to my room, but we got side-tracked and I wasn't organized with this, anyway." He hefts the bag, handing it over to Edward as he sits.

"No worries. I completely forgot it was Father's Day. Thanks, Mase." Edward smiles at his son.

The waiter arrives with our beverages and Masen quickly looks over the menu while Edward and I begin placing our orders. I can't resist the Vanilla Brioche French Toast, Edward chooses the Dungeness Crab Benedict, and Masen quickly decides on the Breakfast Burrito as Edward expected he would, considering his fondness for burritos—even the bland ones at the taquería in Forks.

"So," Masen says afterwards, looking at his father and nodding at the gift bag. "The first thing in there is for your birthday but I figured I might as well give it to you now, since you'll be back home on Thursday."

Edward reaches into the bag, pulling out a Seattle Mariners baseball cap. "Hey, it's my team!" he says happily. "And it's sized to fit—nice! This is awesome, Mase. Thank you." He puts the cap on, adjusting it a bit. "Perfect fit. How do I look?"

"You'd look better if it were a White Sox cap," Masen says with a grin. Edward and I both laugh. "I figured we can still catch the Mariners/White Sox games on TV together—you in Chicago, in your Seattle Mariners cap, while I'm in Seattle, in my Chicago White Sox cap, watching my team crush yours." He smirks, looking from his dad to me.

"That's kind of…poetic…somehow." Edward tells him. "Except my Mariners will be destroying your White Sox."

"You wish," Masen laughs.

"There's one more thing in there, for Father's Day," he says, nodding at the bag. "It's kind of silly," he adds.

Edward reaches back into the bag and comes out with a small plastic bag from the Orange Dracula shop. Inside is a keychain with a square acrylic fob that looks like a small retro postcard. "Seattle" is printed across the top, with a collage of tiny images below: the Space Needle, the Seattle skyline, Mount Rainier, a ferry boat—all the things we saw or did yesterday.

"Turn it over," Masen says and Edward does so, laughing as he sees the black and white photo booth photo tucked inside a small photo-frame slot: It's a photo of a pair of matched Cullens, smiling their matching smiles around plastic vampire fangs.

While Masen and Bree were taking photos in the booth—as good a plan as any to get her on his lap—Edward and I were screwing around with plastic fangs he'd discovered among the Halloween knick-knacks. Once Masen saw his father wearing fangs, he wanted his own. So while Bree and I continued looking at all the kitschy buttons and pins, Edward and Masen took a few father-son vampire photos.

I saw them yesterday, but they still make me smile. In black and white, Edward and Masen look even more similar than in the flesh, especially with Edward's hair slightly longer this visit and Masen's hair cut shorter. The differences in hair and eye colors aren't noticeable, and the result is that they look like two silly peas in a pod. Father and son friends.

"This is great, Mase," Edward says, chuckling softly at the photo. Looking at his soft expression, I can tell he's touched by the simple souvenir that captures the day in Seattle on the front, and his relationship with his Mini-Me on the back.

Masen smiles. "Like I said, it's kind of silly. But this way you'll remember what I look like and where I am."

Edward gives him the evil eye. "Is that an old-age jab? Because I'm turning forty, I'm likely to be more forgetful?"

Masen bursts into laughter. "Hey, you said it, Dad, not me!"

Edward just shakes his head good naturedly, looking my way.

"Don't look at me for sympathy," I tell him. "I'll be forty and forgetful in three months, too."

They both laugh and Edward looks back at his son. "Well, thank you very much for the cap and keychain. I'll treasure them both…Whoever-you-are."

And we're all laughing as the waiter returns with our breakfasts.

*I*

After we've eaten, I tell Edward I'd like to make a quick run back into Pike Place Market to buy something I saw in a shop yesterday. He says that's fine; he and Masen can bring our bags down, he'll check out, and then have the valet bring the truck around. With a quick kiss, he assures me he won't leave me behind.

And so I hurry off to J &amp; J Sportswear.

In my other suitcase—stowed in Masen's truck bed—I have a birthday gift I was planning on giving to Edward later. It's nothing profound. I found it difficult to buy a gift for a man I haven't spent much time _with_. Other than the few things he had with him on his last trip, I have no idea what personal items Edward has, so I really don't know what he needs or likes, or what he lacks and could use. And at nearly forty, like me, he has probably already bought himself whatever he needed, liked, lacked or could use.

So I bought him a polo shirt. Because he wears them, so he must like them. And hopefully he doesn't already have one in the same color.

But now I'm going to go buy him another shirt. And a matching one for me. Because today I have the guts and the grounds to buy them, and the silly, touristy T-shirt just seems appropriate.

*I*

By the time I hurry back with my stealth purchase stuffed in my purse, Masen's truck is curbside and the Cullen men are waiting.

"Couldn't you find what you wanted?" Edward asks, curious about my lack of shopping bag.

"Yeah, I got it." I pat my purse, indicating my purchase is inside. Luckily their minds are on getting to the university from here, so we pile in the truck and we're off, without further ado or inquiry.

I could probably make a stab at navigating, but it's been more than a decade since I've been anywhere near U-Dub. Instead, Masen inputs the address in MapQuest and leans forward, over the front seat, directing Edward from the backseat. We probably should have traded seats but then Edward wouldn't be able to hold my hand.

When we arrive on campus, we follow a map printout Masen has, to get to the residence halls where he'll be living. We park in a nearby lot and unload, and while Masen and Edward sort and divvy things up, I tuck my T-shirt purchase into my suitcase for later. Following signs and Masen's map, as well as other obvious summer students and family members carting dorm-supplies, we head for his residence hall.

It's a slow and precarious trek, but I've got the easiest job, walking Masen's bicycle with Walmart bags hanging from the handlebars. Edward has Masen's sport bag slung across his body, a rolling suitcase with a case of bottled waters balanced on top, Masen's printer box tucked under his other arm, and another Walmart bag dangling from his hand. Masen is wearing his backpack, filled with his laptop and school supplies, his boxed desk lamp is under one arm, and he's pulling his other rolling suitcase behind him, holding yet another Walmart bag on top of that.

"We look like a trio of pack mules," Masen observes as we trudge along the walkway.

"Yeah, we do," I agree with a laugh.

"Just don't drop anything," Edward says. "We'd have no way of picking it up. What falls on the ground, stays on the ground."

The two of them complain and make fun of each other the whole way to the dorm, but somehow everything makes the trip.

Masen's dorm building, like many of the buildings we've passed, is fairly new, built sometime since I attended U-Dub. He shows his U-Dub Husky ID card to a resident advisor at a check-in station for summer residents. The RA, a friendly and knowledgeable older student named Diego, consults a list and a laptop. After everything checks out, Diego affixes a sticker to Masen's ID card for dining services and issues him his room key. He tells Masen where he can stow his bicycle, tells him to get it registered with the campus police, and explains how to get to Masen's room.

Once Masen has locked up his bicycle, we head inside to the elevator, passing a large ground floor great room with a communal kitchen and dining area.

"Don't lose that ID card," Edward tells Masen as we ride up to the fifth floor in the elevator.

"I won't," Masen replies.

"You won't be able to get into the building without it," Edward warns him.

"I know, Dad. I won't lose it."

"It's also your debit account card for dining, laundry, parking…"

"Dad, I get it. I won't be a _loser_, okay?" He rolls his eyes and I'm tempted to giggle. Or hug his worried father. I can't decide which. Instead I try to allay Masen's irritation and his father's fears.

"Speaking from experience…" I tell them, "if either your ID card or room key go missing somehow, you _can_ get them replaced, but it _is_ a pain in the butt." I smile at Masen and then at Edward. Because I'm on Team Cullen—varsity and junior varsity.

When we get to the fifth floor, we see other students moving into rooms along the halls. We pass a study room, a laundry room, and a small lounge with a kitchen. It's nice. Clean and new. And Masen is taking it all in with interest, obviously excited at the prospect of independence and dorm living.

The door to his room is open and we drop off a few things just outside. We'd be too wide to fit through the doorway otherwise. The room is a double, with a private bathroom, two closets, two beds, two desks, two nightstands… and one tall, blond-haired roommate, unzipping a suitcase on a bed. He looks over his shoulder at us and straightens up as we enter.

"Hi. Are you Masen?" he asks.

Masen smiles. "Yeah. Hi. Are you Riley?"

The boy nods. "Yep. Welcome home."

Masen grins, surveys the room, and looks back at Riley. "_Home_ is little."

Riley laughs. "Yeah, it is. I hope you don't mind, I took this side of the room."

"No, that's cool." Masen smiles at his dad and me and then looks beyond us as an older couple appears in the doorway, bearing bags and boxes.

We make room as they enter, and the tall man introduces himself and his petite wife as Riley's parents, Randall and Mary Ellen Biers. Edward introduces us and then we're all shaking hands, exchanging hellos.

The room is crowded with the six of us moving things in, helping the boys to organize, and exchanging information. We learn that the Biers are from Longview, in southern Washington, have been through college move-ins-and-outs with their older son, Randy Jr., who is a resident advisor in one of the other dorms, and they've rented a mini-fridge for the room, which will be delivered tomorrow or Tuesday.

While Edward starts setting up Masen's new printer, I offer to make his bed. He looks from me to his father, like he's not sure if he'd be imposing, but I assure him I'm happy to help. He accepts my offer, thanking me, and starts organizing bathroom supplies and school supplies. Once the bed has been made, we plop suitcases on it and start on clothing. While Masen arranges things in drawers, I'm on hanger duty, putting whatever clothing I'm given on hangers, and handing them to Edward to hang in the closet.

We're done before noon and it's time for Edward to take me to the airport. My flight isn't until 2:35, but I need to be there an hour ahead of time, it will take at least a half hour to get there, and we want to give ourselves a little cushion of time in case there's traffic. When Edward tells Masen he should be back by two, Riley's mom invites Masen to join them on a walk to scout the area and get some lunch, and Masen readily accepts.

"You boys have your ID cards and keys?" Riley's dad asks as we head out the door and into the hall.

"Yes," they answer simultaneously.

"Haven't lost them yet," Masen assures Edward with a smirk, getting a thumbs-up and an eye-roll in return.

Downstairs and outside, we tell the Biers it was nice to meet them, and say our goodbyes.

I turn to Masen next. "Good luck with your first college experience. Don't forget, you can call me if you need anything and you're always welcome to come visit me."

"Thanks, Bella. I appreciate that," he says, giving me a quick hug. "Take care and have a great time in San Diego."

"Thanks, Masen. You take care, too." He nods and smiles that Cullen-smile he inherited.

Edward pats him on the back and reminds him he'll see him around two, and Masen assures him he'll be here. And with that, Edward and I take off.

"They seemed nice," Edward says as we walk back to Masen's truck, hand-in-hand.

"The Biers? Yeah, definitely. They were very friendly. I'm sure Masen and Riley will get along fine. Did you notice Riley brought a soccer ball?"

Edward smiles. "Yeah, I did. And he brought a bicycle."

"And his older brother is a resident advisor in the dorms," I remind him.

"Yeah. That seems like good news."

"How's your separation anxiety meter?" I ask after a moment.

Edward chuckles. "It's pointing to _just might survive_."

*I*

We're quiet on the way to SeaTac airport, but we don't let go of each other if we can help it. We hold hands. Or he kisses my hand. Or I'm touching the back of his neck and fiddling with his hair. We smile at each other but we know time is running out. The closer we get to the airport the farther from it I'd like to be. But I keep reminding myself it's only a short while until I see him again. And for a much longer time, next time.

We near the airport with plenty of time to spare and Edward asks if I want to stop somewhere for a quick bite to eat. But I have no appetite. I do have his gifts, though, and since we'll be rushed when he drops me off at the airport, it would be nice to have a few minutes to do that now.

So, we stop at a coffee shop and I get his gifts from my suitcase, while he goes inside to order two coffees. He meets me outside at a small table a couple minutes later, coffees in hand.

"Hey, what's this?" he asks, looking at the J &amp; J Sportswear bag and wrinkled gift-wrapped present as he sits.

"It's for you. For your birthday. It was in my other suitcase in the truck. And unfortunately the gift wrap is a little worse for the wear, after being packed."

He laughs. "It looks just like the gift-wrap jobs I do." I snort a laugh. He's obsessively neat and I can't imagine his gift-wrapping technique would be any different.

"Here. Open this first." I hand him the gift-wrapped package. "I hope it fits."

He opens it and shakes out the dark teal polo shirt I bought. "This is great, Bella. I like the color." He looks at the tag inside. "And it's the right size. Thank you." He leans over for a kiss and I happily oblige him.

"You don't already have one like it?" I ask.

"No, and I really like it. It's like the Mariners' green—_northwest green_, they call it." He's right, I realize. I bought it because I thought the color would suit him, but if it's a Mariners color, I guess that's a plus. He holds it up in front of him. "What do you think?" he asks.

I smile at him. "You look very handsome." He never looks otherwise, but the color makes his green eyes look teal, and it's nice with his auburn hair.

"How about now?" he asks, dropping the shirt to his lap.

"Still handsome." I laugh. "Now open this thing, Handsome." I push the bag from J &amp; J Sportswear toward him. "That's what I went back to buy this morning. I saw it yesterday, but couldn't bring myself to buy it until today."

His expression is a cross between a smile and a frown of confusion as he reaches into the bag.

"It's touristy," I warn him as he pulls out the white T-shirt and shakes it out.

He takes one look at the front and laughs, his eyes twinkling as they meet mine. "It certainly is touristy," he agrees. "And quite appropriate." He holds the shirt up to his chest, smiling his killer crooked smile, displaying the _Seattle is for Lovers_ slogan with its little red heart. I giggle. And I blush. I can't imagine him ever wearing it, but it's the thought—and the memories of last night and this morning—that count.

"I bought one for myself, too," I admit, and he laughs. "I don't know that either of us would ever wear that out in public, but it might be okay to sleep in."

He shakes his head, grinning. "Nope. I'm wearing it to work. Every day."

I laugh at him. "Well, just make sure to dress it up with a suit and tie, so you still look professional."

He smiles and takes my hand, pulling it and me towards him, up and out of my chair, over to sit on his lap. "Thank you. For both shirts. And for every single moment of the past two days." He leans in to kiss me sweetly. And then more lingeringly. And then more longingly. When we pull apart, I wrap my arms tightly around him, burying my face into his neck. I'm going to miss him and his big, solid, smiling, laughing, dear sweet Edward-ness.

"I love you," he says in a low, gruff voice. "We'll be together again soon," he promises, and I nod, kissing his neck.

"I know. I'm still going to miss you. I love you." He holds me close, rubbing my back, soothing me and maybe himself.

Eventually we have to return to reality and get on our way. We take a few sips of our rapidly cooling, forgotten coffees, and then toss them out with our trash. And then we head back to the truck and off to SeaTac.

He pulls up along the curb at the airport and gets out to help me with my bags. We hug each other tightly and with a final kiss, and a pair of _I love yous_, we say our goodbyes for now.

*I*

The next four hours are a haze I go through on autopilot, checking in, walking to my gate, buying a magazine I look at but don't see, and boarding my plane for the two and a half hour flight. Inside my head, I'm seeing different things. I'm sifting through moments from the past two days. And last night. And this morning. Imagining a stay in Chicago. And a possible move in the pursuit of happiness.

The next thing I know, it's five o'clock and we're landing in San Diego. It's sunny outside. Sunnier than I feel inside. But I pull myself together, gather my things, and exit the plane. While I wait in line at the rental car office, I text Mom to let her know I've arrived, even though I know she's in-flight and won't get the text until she arrives shortly after seven.

**Hi Mom. Made it safely to sunny San Diego! See you in a couple hours. xo**

Once I'm armed with directions and our sporty red Chevy rental car, I head for the Hotel del Coronado. As I drive out of the airport and get onto the southbound I-5 freeway, it dawns on me that I could turn around, stay on the northbound I-5 for about a day, and I'd be right back in Seattle. But I doubt Mom would like to spend her birthday alone tomorrow, so I continue south and take the big blue and white Coronado Bridge across the San Diego Bay to Coronado Island.

And the hotel… Wow… It's like I've stepped into the early nineteen-hundreds. I've seen photos online of the stately, Victorian-style beach resort, but the Hotel del Coronado is even more lovely in person, with its red-roofed white buildings and lush landscaped grounds, overlooking the white, sandy beach and sparkling blue water.

Dropping the rental car off with the valet, I check in, and I'm shown to our room—three floors up in the main, historic, Victorian building. We have a beautiful view of sand and water and sky. I unpack and decide to get out of my Moving-Masen-Into-His-Dorm-And-Then-Flying-To-San-Diego outfit, take a quick shower, and put on something more beach-resorty before Mom gets here and we go to dinner.

Showered and dressed in a gauzy, white, tiered skirt and bright blue top, I slip my feet into sandals and take another look outside. I notice a small bar with fire rings, just up from the sand, and decide it would be a nice place to sit and sip a drink while watching the sun set and waiting for Mom to arrive. Checking the booklet listing the hotel's bars, eateries, and amenities, I learn that the beachside bar is the aptly-named Sunset Bar. Grabbing a sweater, my phone, and my room keycard, I head downstairs.

*I*

At the bar, I find two seats facing the shore and I place my sweater in the empty wicker chair next to mine. Picking up the bar menu, I look over the specialty drink choices and decide on the Watermelon Lemonade—a vodka drink with housemade watermelon lemonade. It sounds delicious and summery and resorty. While I wait for the waiter to come take my order, my mind wanders to Edward. I wonder what he and Masen are doing, and I realize I should probably text him to let him know I made it here.

**Hi. Got here safe and sound. It's lovely!**

"Welcome to the Sunset Bar. Can I get you something to drink?"

I look up at the waiter—a young man with sun bleached hair. He looks like he rolled off a surfboard and came to work.

"I'd like a Watermelon Lemonade, please."

"Good choice," he says, smiling. "Would you like anything to eat?"

"Not yet, thank you. I'm waiting for someone."

He nods and sets a coaster on the table in front of me as my phone chimes with a text. Looking at it, I see a reply from Edward.

**How's that California weather treating you?**

I check the local temperature on my phone and text him back.

**73 degrees and sunny. Warmer than Washington this time of day.**

While I wait for my drink to arrive, I decide to text Mom again. She has probably landed by now and should be here sometime in the next half-hour, depending upon whether she checked luggage through or just brought a carryon.

**Hi Mom. I'm at the Sunset Bar out near the beach. Text me when you get here and I'll meet you in the lobby. Or you can join me to watch the sunset! :)**

"Is this seat taken?" a man's voice asks.

I look up to see an older gentleman, nicely dressed, and behind him a woman who must be his wife. Or girlfriend. Who knows, nowadays? She has a seat and he needs one.

"Um… No, go ahead." I take my cardigan off the chair and drape it over the back of my chair. I have no idea how long Mom will take and I feel bad saving an extra seat.

Edward texts me back just as Surfer Dude returns with my drink.

**What are you up to, down there in California?**

I smile and stand to take a selfie of me and my drink, with the beach and the setting sun in the background. Then I compose a text to go with the photo.

**Just waiting for Mom and enjoying a Watermelon Lemonade (with vodka!) by the shore. **

As soon as I send the photo and message off, I finally get a text from Mom. Hallelujah. She made it.

**Hi baby! Just stay put and order another glass of whatever you're having! :)**

I haven't even had a chance to try my drink. But I taste it and it's delicious and I know she'll like it. I decide to go order at the bar, rather than wait for Surfer Dude to make the rounds.

Standing at the bar, I wait until I catch the bartender's attention and then I point to my drink. "I need another one of these when you get the chance," I tell him.

"Is there something wrong with that one?" he asks in concern.

I laugh. "No, it's fine! It's great, in fact. I need one for my Mom. She's on her way out here." He nods, smiling as he finishes the drinks he's currently making.

I turn, looking up the walkway to the hotel, watching for her, but all I see is a family wrapped in beach towels, a young couple holding hands, a mother and father swinging a small boy by the hands between them, farther back, two more couples, both arm-in-arm, and then a tall man, just exiting the hotel. But no Mom. Maybe she's dropping her things off in our room.

I turn back to see that the bartender is starting on her drink. My phone chimes again with a response from Edward about my last message and photo.

**The drink looks good, the sunset looks pretty, and you look beautiful. I like that white skirt. ;)**

I smile at his sweet words. And then I look above his message, to the photo I sent him.

And I frown.

My skirt isn't visible in the photo.

My heart begins to race.

Whirling around, I look back up the walkway.

To the tall man…closer now...in a northwest green polo shirt…striking hair lit up golden-bronze by the setting sun…

Oh my god…

He's here! Edward is _here!_

* * *

**A/N: I hope you'll share your thoughts. Kudos to those of you who guessed or hoped. :) **

**Google the Hotel del Coronado. It's a lovely resort and a National Historic Landmark with an interesting history. And…I highly recommend it for a romantic tryst by the sea. ;)**


	36. In Pursuit of Happiness

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Now to find out about that offer Edward accepted… We're going backwards and then we'll go forwards. (Meanwhile I'll go backwards...to review replies for last chapter!)

* * *

**Chapter 36: In Pursuit of Happiness**

**One week ago, in Chicago…**

Sunday morning, June ninth, five days before their return trip to Washington, Edward and his son had gone for their usual run to the park and back. Arriving back at the house afterwards, Edward discovered a missed call and voicemail on his private cell phone. He frowned, recognizing neither the phone number nor area code. Standing in the kitchen, downing a bottle of water while Masen chugged a sport drink, Edward listened to the voicemail on speaker.

"_Hello, Edward. This is Renee Dwyer—Bella's mom." _

Edward stilled as the message continued.

_"I'd like to speak to you at your earliest convenience, if you would please return my call. And if you happen to speak to Bella, please don't mention that I contacted you. Hope to hear from you soon. Bye, now."_

Edward looked up to see his son watching him, looking just as surprised and confused as Edward felt.

"You think something _happened_ to Bella?" Masen asked carefully, voicing Edward's own worries.

"I hope not. I just talked to her last night and she was fine."

Masen nodded. "You going to call her mom?"

"Yeah. But I think I'll take this in the study." Edward left the kitchen, heading down the hall for a bit of privacy as he returned Renee Dwyer's call.

"_Hello?"_

"Hi. Uh…Mrs. Dwyer? This is Edward… Edward Cullen."

"_Oh, Hello, Edward! Thank you for getting back to me so quickly. And please, call me Renee."_

"Okay…Renee. How are you? Is everything all right? Is Bella okay?" Edward shut the door to the study.

"_Bella? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you with my cryptic message. Yes, everything's fine—nothing to worry about. Goodness, I can't get over how mature you sound! And I hope you won't mind my saying so, but you've certainly aged well! How are you, Edward?"_

Edward blinked. Speechless and lost. But that was to be expected. This was Renee Dwyer, after all. For as many unexpected things as came out of Bella's mouth, the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree—Renee Dwyer was the queen of unexpected and occasionally unimaginable utterances.

Edward settled into the chair at his desk as he finally found his tongue. "Uh, I'm doing well, Renee, thank you. And at nearly forty, I would hope I sounded relatively mature. Uh…so… you've…_seen_ me?" He heard Renee laugh.

"_That must have sounded so weird—or frightening! But yes, I saw a recent photo. Bella texted me a photo Angela took of the two of you with your boy, when you were in Forks, back in April."_

"I see."

_"Oh, and your boy is such a nice-looking young man! He clearly takes after his father!"_

Well…thank you." Edward smiled...and then frowned, still baffled, wondering if he should inquire if there was a point to Renee's original call. But then she beat him to it.

"_So, you're probably wondering why I called…"_

"I am, actually," Edward chuckled, easing back in his desk chair, rocking slightly and raking his fingers through his still-sweaty hair.

"_Well, first I just want to say that I always thought you were such a cute, sweet boy, Edward. And it was just lovely to hear that you reached out to Bella, after all these years, when Charlie passed. It's wonderful that you two are back in contact. It's been really good for Bella. She's always been so self-sufficient, but sometimes you really need someone else to lean on. So I'm thankful you've been there for her, offering support and giving her something more…positive…to focus on. Even if it's from a distance."_

Edward could only assume the "something more positive" Renee was alluding to was his rekindling relationship with Bella.

"I'm just sorry I haven't been able to do more for her. It's difficult, being so far away, but it's been a real pleasure getting to know Bella again."

"_Oh, and I know she feels the same about you! It's just unfortunate you live so far apart and won't get to see each other very often. And I want you to know, I felt absolutely terrible when I found out the San Diego trip I'd arranged for Bella and myself this next week coincided with your return trip to Seattle. I was trying to do something nice for her and instead I messed up your plans to spend more time together! Anyway, I'm sure Bella told you I can't change the dates of our trip…but...I can offer it to you."_

Edward stilled, certain he had misheard or misunderstood. "I beg your pardon?"

"_Well, I told Bella I would gracefully bow out if she wanted to invite you to join her, but she vetoed the idea immediately. She explained that you'd be getting your son settled at school, but I suspect she was also afraid of hurting my feelings. You know how Bella is—putting everyone else first and herself last. _

_"Bella told me you changed your trip dates so you could spend this weekend together, but this poorly-timed vacation situation has been bothering me all week, so I finally decided to take it upon myself to track you down and personally offer to let you take my place. On me, of course. The hotel and rental car are already taken care of, so it would just be a matter of you getting a flight from Seattle to San Diego. _

"_I know you have to move your son next weekend, so this might not fit into your plans, but I wanted to at least give you the option."_

Edward hadn't misheard. Or misunderstood. But he had no idea how to respond.

First and foremost, he had to consider his son. He had to get Masen situated and all set to live on his own in an unfamiliar city—and he'd planned on five days to do that. Secondly, there was Bella. Spending some one-on-one time with her mother would probably be at least somewhat cathartic after the loss of her father. And thirdly, after sharing two all-too-brief kisses two months ago, Edward wasn't confident Bella was ready just yet to share her hotel room with him. No matter what Renee Dwyer might assume.

The whole thing sounded crazy. Incredibly thoughtful and generous, but crazy, all the same. And Edward definitely needed further clarification.

"Wow… This is so…unexpected, Renee…" he finally replied, running his hand through his hair again. "So, uh, I'm just a little confused… Does Bella know you're contacting me about this? Did she give you my number?"

"_Oh, heavens, no! She would have shot me down if I'd mentioned it. So I called information, but you weren't listed, but then I remembered Bella saying Angela had taken that photo of you and Bella with your son, and that she had texted it to both of you, so I thought maybe Angela still had your number—and she did!"_

Edward blinked. "I see… Well… Gosh… Your offer is incredibly thoughtful and generous, Renee. I wish circumstances were different and that I was in a position to accept, but I really do need to get my son moved in and settled with living on his own in Seattle…"

"_I completely understand, Edward. I wouldn't try to convince you to do anything you wouldn't feel comfortable with. I just thought it would be nice if this little escape worked out for the two of you, so I wanted to give you the option. I__f you change your mind and decide you do want to go, you can call or text me anytime and I'll send you the information." _

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind," Edward replied, not wanting to squelch her optimism with his reality.

"_Well, I'd better let you go, Edward. I hope the move-in goes smoothly. Have a wonderful time this weekend in Seattle."_

"Thank you, Renee. I'm looking forward to spending those two and a half days with Bella."

"_I know she's looking forward to it, too. Take care, Edward."_

"You, too, Renee. Goodbye."

"_Goodbye."_

Edward sat at his desk long after disconnecting the call.

And longer still after saving Renee Dwyer's phone number in his contacts.

Finally he sighed and stood and left his study. Hearing the sounds of a video game coming from Masen's room, he walked down the hall and knocked on the open door. Masen was undoubtedly curious about the call.

"Yeah?" Masen said, pausing the game and looking up. "Is everything okay?"

Edward nodded. Still rather dumbstruck.

"So, what did she want?" Masen asked.

"She offered me her trip to San Diego next week. To be with Bella."

Masen's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "_Seriously_?"

Edward nodded. "Seriously."

"Wow… So, when do you leave?"

Edward blinked. "I'm not going! In case you've forgotten, we're moving you into a dorm in Seattle next week!"

Masen rolled his eyes. "I know, Dad. Like I'd forget. But it shouldn't take us long, right? You could still go with her." Edward stared at his son in disbelief.

"I'm not...just...dropping you off and leaving all on your own!" Edward sputtered.

"Dad. We were there for a day in April and we'll be there for another _two days_ this weekend. I'll be living in a dorm with three hundred other students, plus, I'll have Bree—and she's lived in Seattle her whole life. If you want to go, you should go. You don't have to stay with me in Seattle for five days. I'll be fine. If I can get around Chicago, I'm pretty sure I can figure out Seattle."

"Whatever, Masen," Edward huffed. Turning, he stalked away down the hall, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Clearly his son had no concept of the gravity of the situation, regarding their impending separation.

*I*

**One week later, in Seattle…**

Edward glanced at the clock on the nightstand as he lay in bed, Sunday morning. It wasn't even five o'clock but he was awake. Just like he'd been off and on through the night. Just watching Bella—her expression so soft and lovely in sleep.

He was in love with her. And somehow she was in love with him. After all this time.

He couldn't believe he'd regained something so precious, with someone he'd thought lost to him forever. He didn't want to lose her again. And he certainly wasn't ready to say goodbye to her today. Not after last night. Not after that avalanche of emotion.

What a whirlwind these past two days had been. He just wished their remaining time together in Seattle wasn't so short.

He would give anything to linger and make love to her throughout the day, as the mood struck them. But they would have to be together for that. She would have to remain in Seattle or he would have to follow her to San Diego.

It wasn't like he hadn't toyed with that idea. He'd thought about it all week long—even more so this weekend, as his and Bella's relationship so quickly evolved and deepened. But every time he'd imagined giving into that desire to join her, he'd told himself he just couldn't.

Until now.

Because spending more time with Bella felt less and less like a _desire_ and more and more like a _need_.

As the dawn sky lightened, Edward knew what he had to do. He hoped he'd be forgiven for making this selfish decision, but Masen had already encouraged it, himself. And after yesterday, Edward knew Masen wasn't entirely alone here. He had Bree.

And it wouldn't be like Edward was flying to the moon. He'd be on the same coast as his son—just a couple hours away by plane, and certainly within reach by phone. And though Masen, like any teenager, had made a few dumb decisions in the course of his young life, he usually made smart decisions. He was a good kid and an intelligent boy and now he was ready to spread his wings and leave the nest. Waiting a few more days to cut the proverbial cord probably wouldn't change a thing.

With his decision reached, Edward slipped out of bed and found his phone. And sent a text to Renee Dwyer.

**I know this is short notice, but if it's not too late, I'd like to accept your offer.**

Setting his phone on the bedside table, Edward headed off to the bathroom, leaving his evening to fate. If he was too late, he'd stay in Seattle until Wednesday, as planned. But if he wasn't too late, he'd have to work on getting himself to San Diego.

Returning a few minutes later, Edward was surprised to see Renee had already replied. But then he remembered the time difference between Seattle and Jacksonville was three hours, not two.

**Wonderful! Of course it's not too late. It's yours.**

Reading her reply, Edward's gut filled with excitement, anticipation, and a bit of parental trepidation. As he began thinking about a plan of attack, a couple more texts popped up with details about Bella and Renee's flight times, the hotel, and Renee's new plans to join Phil in Tennessee. She also asked how Edward planned to approach this change in plans with Bella.

**I'll surprise her and arrive when you were due. Taking a later flight will give me a little more time here to tie things up. Thank you so much for this!**

As he began checking on available flights to San Diego for late that afternoon, he got a final text from Renee.

**You're so welcome! I'll let you know if I hear from Bella, so you can coordinate things. This is so exciting! :)**

A few minutes later, after booking his flight, Edward set his phone on the nightstand and crawled back into bed. He curled himself around Bella and closed his eyes, hoping for a little more sleep before the start of an undoubtedly hectic day.

*I*

**That very same evening, in San Diego…**

Checking in at the front desk of the Hotel del Coronado, I get a text from Bella—a reply to my question about what she's doing.

**Just waiting for Mom and enjoying a Watermelon Lemonade (with vodka) by the shore.**

There's a photo attached of her near the beach, smiling with her pink drink in hand, and it tells me all I need to know, even before my phone vibrates with another text. This one from Renee.

**Bella texted me that she's at the Sunset Bar on the beach. I told her to wait there. Have a wonderful time! :)**

I ask the front desk attendant to hold my things, telling him I need to meet someone at the Sunset Bar, and then I inquire about the quickest way to get there.

Heading for the exit that will take me out to the beach, I send a quick reply to Bella's mom.

**I'm on my way there now. Thank you again for everything. I really appreciate this.**

Stepping outside to the walkway that leads beyond the hotel grounds to the beach, I shade my eyes against the setting sun. I can already see her in her bright blue top and a long, while, flowing skirt, standing at the bar. She's talking to the bartender, but then she turns to look this way. She doesn't appear to spot me, as far back as I am and with other hotel guests between us. When she turns her attention back to the bartender, I send a reply to her photo and message.

**The drink looks good, the sunset looks pretty, and you look beautiful. I like that white skirt. ;)**

Keeping my eyes on her, I start heading out to the beachside bar, passing guests returning to the hotel. My heart is in my throat when I see her look back down at her phone. She stills, and then whirls around, looking back in my direction, seeing me now. Her expression of surprise and the brilliant smile that follows tell me this was a very good idea. I breathe a sigh of relief and return her smile.

Ignoring the bartender as he calls after her, she scoots past patrons, chairs and fire pits, darting up the walkway as my own pace increases to meet her.

"Edward! You're here!" she cries when she reaches me, throwing her arms around my neck as I catch her up in my arms.

"I am," I laugh, clutching her familiar, sweet-smelling, soft warmth.

"You're not in Seattle!" she exclaims.

"No, I'm not," I agree with another laugh, setting her on her feet, keeping her close, and feeling extraordinarily happy she looks so glad to see me.

Her smile shifts to a sudden look of concern. "What about Masen?"

"He's in Seattle. He's fine."

"Oh." She nods but then she looks concerned again. "Are _you _fine?" She blushes slightly before adding, "Leaving him, I mean?"

"I think so. It's going to feel the same whether I left him there now or in a few days. I just have to get used to it, you know?"

She nods again and then breaks into another big smile. "I can't believe you're here!" Her hands skim down, fingers touching my neck and shoulders and chest, as if to make sure it's really me and not just an apparition.

"So, what are you _doing here_?" she asks with a confused little grin. I laugh. I know what she means but her thoughts are all over the place and her confusion is cute. My primary reason for being here should be fairly obvious, but I tell her all the same.

"Two and a half days just wasn't enough. Especially after last night. I needed more time with you, Bella."

"Oh, Edward…" she sighs, fisting the front of my shirt, pulling me in for a kiss. I hold her close as she reaches up, soft hands cupping my face. We kiss, mouths moving together, and the lush swipe of her tongue against mine feels so good and so…right.

We lose ourselves in that close connection—until the sudden clearing of a throat interrupts us, bringing us back to reality. Pulling apart, we sheepishly acknowledge a family of four, wrapped in beach towels, skirting past us on the walkway. The father glares at me as his two adolescent daughters giggle, and their mother just smiles.

"Whoops," Bella breathes, pink-faced, when they pass. My eyes meet hers and I shrug away the moment with a grin. I'm too happy to be embarrassed about our intimate display.

"Let's head down to the bar and I'll explain everything," I tell her, looking beyond her. "That bartender you were flirting with is waving at you." I'm teasing her—the guy is waving a phone that I suspect is hers.

"What?!" Her head whips around and the guy waves again. "Oh! I left my phone there!" Looking back at me, she laughs, slapping a hand against my chest. "I wasn't flirting! I was ordering a drink for my… Oh, gosh! My mom!" She looks toward the hotel. "Did you see her? She should be out here any…"

"Your mom's not here, Bella." I watch her carefully, hoping she'll be okay with the change in plans.

"Yes, she is. She just texted me to order her a drink."

I shake my head. "No. She's in Chattanooga, Tennessee. She went with Phil and the team." She stares at me, dumbfounded.

"_What_?! How do you…? She _is_?" Her expression morphs with each new partial-question, and when I nod, her eyes widen as she catches on. "_You're_ here…_instead of Mom_?" I nod again. "For all _five days_?!" she gasps.

"If you want me," I tell her with a shrug and a grin.

She bursts into laughter like I've said something completely hilarious. "Of course, I want you!" She catches my wrists up in a vice grip, though I have no intention of running off.

"But how did you…? Did she…? I can't believe this! How did the two of you manage this?!" She looks so baffled, but so elated—like I am. Looping my arm around her I laugh.

"It was your mom's doing. Let's go get your phone and have a drink and I'll tell you all about it."

We head down the walkway toward the bar. Beyond it, waves roll onto the shore, and everything is cast in a warm gold as the sun nears the horizon.

The bartender looks over as we walk up to the bar. "I've got your phone," he tells Bella as he delivers two glasses of wine. She nods and picks up her drink, handing me an identical one next to it.

"Try this. It's good," she says. I have my doubts about the pink, fruity vodka drink, but I take a sip as the bartender heads over to us.

"So, this is your _mom_?" he asks Bella with a smirk, nodding at me as he hands over her phone.

"Thanks. And no," she laughs. "Surprise change of plans." She turns to smile up at me fondly. "Boyfriend instead of mom." Her words fill me with a warmth even before she wraps her hand around my arm, tucking her body close to mine.

"I told him the second drink was for Mom," she tells me, explaining the bartender's comment.

"Oh. And her mom probably would like this," I tell the guy as I set the drink down. "But I think I'd rather have a beer or a glass of…"

"Try something resort-y," Bella urges, passing me the bar's specialty drink and appetizer menu.

I smile as I look the list over. There are several _resort-y _and fruity rum and vodka drinks—but they're not really my thing. I decide on the absurdly-named gin and tonic with lemongrass, cucumber, lime, and white pepper, despite its name. "I'll take a Romp in the Garden," I tell the bartender, feeling slightly ridiculous.

"Good choice," he says, grinning as he goes to make it. He must find it entertaining every time a man orders one. At least it sounds good. And a little _resort-y._

"I'm hungry, are you?" Bella asks, looking at the list of appetizers.

"Starving," I confess as I wrap my arm around her. "And I've had a harrowing day—trying to keep this a secret, get everything done with Masen, and worrying I was going to miss my flight and screw everything up."

She leans into me with a laugh. "Aww, I want to hear all about your _harrowing_ day. And I need to thank my mom for this. But let's pick out something to eat, first. How do you feel about ordering a handful of appetizers and calling that dinner?"

"Sure. What looks good to you?"

By the time my drink arrives, we've chosen side salads and appetizers to share. While I place our order, Bella sends her mom a message, telling her how surprised she was to see me, thanking her, and promising to call tomorrow. I spot a seat for two at a fire pit, and after Bella retrieves her sweater from another chair, she joins me.

"Cheers, Edward. To five whole days together." She holds her glass up with a smile.

"To the pursuit of happiness," I counter, draping my arm around her shoulders as I clink my glass to hers. Her smile softens and she leans in to give me a brief kiss before we both take a sip of our drinks.

"I'm really glad you're here," she says afterwards.

"Me, too," I agree, stroking the cool skin of her bare arm with my fingertips.

Once we've taken another sip of our drinks, she looks at me expectantly. "So… How the _hell_ did this go down without my knowledge?"

I chuckle. "Well, I honestly didn't think I'd be able to do this initially, but your mom contacted me last Sunday…" A pucker of confusion appears above the bridge of her nose.

"She called your _house_?"

"No, she left a message on my cell phone, and I called her back." Her reaction makes me chuckle. She looks as dumbfounded as I must have looked when I heard Renee's voicemail.

"How did Mom get your _cell number_?!"

"I wondered about that, too. I thought maybe you had given it to her, but it turned out she'd gotten it from Angela."

"_Angela_?! Why would _Angela _have it?" I can't help grinning. She sounds almost indignant.

"She had it from the last time I was in Forks, when she texted me that photo she took of us at The Cup and Saucer."

"Oh! Wow… I can't believe Mom thought of that! I'm impressed." Bella takes another drink, sucking on the straw—driving me just a little bit nuts because… Well, because.

"I'm just curious…" I tell her, focusing back on our conversation. "Apparently you _sent _your mom that photo?" I know she did, but I can't _not_ tease her about it. "Why would you do that?" I raise my glass for another sip—and to hide my smile. She's blushing like I expected.

"Edward! You know my mom and her questions!" She laughs. "I did it under duress!" She smacks my thigh when I start laughing. I can well imagine the hell Renee put Bella through in that conversation about me.

"Seriously, once Mom started digging, I actually told her a lot about you, and your last visit, and how we'd been keeping in touch since then. Because she knows you, you know?" I nod. "And she always thought you were so _cute_." She smirks and I can feel the tips of my ears burning.

"She actually…mentioned that…when we spoke," I admit, reaching up and dragging my hand through my hair.

Bella snorts a laugh. "That's my mother, for you! She's definitely in your fan club and still thinks you're cute. Actually she used the term _hot_ because she's _with-it_, you know?"

She grins as she takes another sip of her drink, and I follow suit, hoping a gulp of my gin and tonic will put out the fire in my cheeks and ears. Luckily for me, the waiter shows up with our side salads, so hopefully we're done talking about how _cute_ and/or _hot_ her sixty-year-old mother finds me.

"This truffle vinaigrette is really good," Bella says as we take a moment to dig into our salads of mixed greens, cherry tomatoes, and pine nuts. I nod in agreement with my mouth full.

"So, back to your phone call..." Bella prompts, once we've had a few bites to quell our hunger. "Did Mom embarrass you beyond belief?"

"No," I chuckle. "I think she saves most of that for you. She just said she was glad to hear we were in contact again, and she felt bad this trip she'd planned cut into our time together in Seattle. So, after thinking about it for a week, she said she decided to call and offer the trip to me."

Bella nods, stabbing at her salad with her fork. "Edward… I'm really sorry…" She looks back up at me, chewing her lip. "Mom told me I should invite you and she wouldn't come. But she was so excited about the trip, I hated to do that. And I decided not to even mention it to you, because I knew you needed to spend time with Masen. I didn't want you to feel…_torn_…you know?"

She kept this option to herself, in order to put her mother, me, and Masen first. And she's apologizing for that. She's something else. She just cares about the people she cares for, and that's nothing to feel guilty about.

"Bella, I completely understand. And I probably would have turned you down anyway, just like I did with your mom at first, because I _was_ concerned about Masen…"

She nods but we put our conversation on hold as the waiter swings by to see how we're doing on drinks. He takes Bella's empty glass but she already has the back-up Watermelon Lemonade she'd ordered for her mother. I'm nearing the end of my drink, so I order another Romp in the Garden—silly name be damned.

Once the waiter leaves, we pause to sip on our drinks and admire the sunset as the sun slides into the ocean, lighting up the sky in orange, gold, and streaks of pale aqua. After a moment, I quietly pick up the conversation where I'd left off.

"Last Sunday when your mom called, I also wasn't so sure you'd be willing to share a room with me yet," I tell her.

She fixes me with those luminous brown eyes, blushing as she smiles. My guess is we're both thinking about how well we shared her old bedroom in Forks on Friday night and our hotel room in Seattle last night. And again this morning.

"Yeah, well… Once you flew back out here… I guess things changed pretty quickly." I smile at those shining eyes, thinking about our clandestine cuddle one night that led to love-making the next.

"Yeah, they did. But I have no complaints."

"Me neither," she agrees.

I tuck her hair back over her shoulder and lean in, kissing her just behind her ear. "I love you," I tell her softly.

She reaches up, placing her hand on my cheek, holding me in place as she turns her face to mine. "I love you, too," she murmurs with a soft sigh and an even softer look as she kisses me.

As we finish our salads, another waiter appears with a tray bearing our appetizers and my drink. He sets out plates of mussel and chorizo crostini, burrata bruschetta, and calamari with a spicy marinara dip. Placing two small, clean dishes in front of us, he takes away our salad plates.

"You said you told Mom no at first, so when did you change your mind about coming?" she asks as we start sampling appetizers.

"Well, I couldn't stop thinking about it all week, but I didn't actually decide until this morning. Your mom told me to get in touch with her, if I changed my mind. So, I did."

The pucker between her eyebrows is back. "Where was I?" she asks, finishing a bite of crostini.

"You were next to me. Sleeping."

"What?! What time was this?"

"Around five." I shrug. "I couldn't sleep. I just kept thinking about it. Especially after last night—I just wasn't ready to part ways again for weeks."

She slips her arm around behind me, resting her head on my shoulder. "I didn't want to either, Edward. I kept telling myself it would only be for a few weeks, so I wouldn't get all teary at the airport." She looks up, smiling. "But I'm glad you changed your mind and we got more time together now. I just can't believe you didn't let on!" she finishes, pinching my side.

It doesn't hurt but my ribs are ticklish, and I almost choke on my calamari. Somehow I manage to grab her hand, finish chewing, swallow, and laugh—pretty much at the same time.

"I felt just awful, dropping you off at the airport, letting you think that was it for now, Bella. I almost gave in and told you. But your mom wanted to surprise you and I did too."

"Well, I still can't believe it, but this really was quite the wonderful surprise."

"I can't believe it either," I admit. "At sunrise, I didn't want you to leave. And here I am at sunset, sitting next to you."

"And it's a pretty one," she says, looking out over the ocean. The sun has disappeared, but the darkening sky is still lit up with a variety of colors.

"Here, you have to try these," I tell her, dipping some calamari into the spicy dip and holding it up to feed her. She leans forward and takes the bite from my fingers, looking incredibly sexy as she does so. I doubt she has any idea where my thoughts are straying.

"Mmm…" she hums, making my thoughts wander farther.

"Good, huh?" I ask, trying to keep myself focused. She nods and swallows and licks her lips and I just have to look away. Damn.

"Try this. It's really tasty," she says, picking up a crostini topped with mussels and chorizo. She holds it up with a smile, intending to feed me like I did her. But it's a bigger, crunchier bite and I lose part of the topping, catching it in my hand and licking it up as she laughs. Yeah…no way that was sexy, but I love hearing her laugh and seeing her smile, so I just grin proudly.

"Those are really good," I tell her. "Messy, but good."

She nods as she picks up the plate of burrata bruschetta and places a slice onto each of our plates.

"So, what about Masen? When did you tell him?" she asks, licking her finger, making me wonder if she's taunting me, but instead I clear my throat and respond.

"While you were getting ready to go to breakfast this morning, I went to his room and told him. He knew all day." I pick up a bruschetta and take a bite.

"I can't believe he didn't let on," she remarks and I nod, chewing, swallowing.

"I told him to keep his non-existent poker face under control, and I threatened to cut him out of the will if he let on." She giggles at that.

"So, what was his reaction to you leaving? Was he upset?" she asks, picking up a slice of bruschetta.

"Not at all. He actually gave me a fist-bump…"

"Oh, God…" Bella ducks her head in embarrassment and I chuckle at her obvious misunderstanding.

"It wasn't about his dear old dad _getting some_, if that's what you're cringing about." She giggles, looking up with a twinkle in her eyes. I'm sure she's also blushing. Then again, it could be the heat from the fire pit warming up her face. But I doubt it, given the context.

"It was really more about me just doing something for me, for a change," I assure her as she finally bites into her bruschetta. "He was totally fine with it. In fact, he was fine with it a week ago when I told him about your mom's call. He encouraged me to go and gave me a whole list of reasons why he was fine with it." She smiles around her mouthful of food, holding up a finger for me to give her a moment.

"What were his reasons?" she finally asks, grinning expectantly.

"Well, he figured we would have been in Seattle for a total of three days between this weekend and the day we met with an advisor and toured the campus in April. Plus he figured he had Bree and the three hundred other students in his dorm to keep him company." She's stifling her laughter already. "And he figured living in Chicago more than prepared him for living in Seattle. In fact, this morning he reminded me I wasn't dropping him off in the wilderness to forage for food and build his own shelter." She bursts into laughter, probably thinking I'm kidding.

"I'm dead serious! He actually said that!" I huff, popping another piece of calamari into my mouth.

"He's a funny kid. But he's sweet, trying to point out all the positives so _dear old dad_ won't worry about him." She smiles at me and I nod, I have to agree.

"I do feel better about this than I thought I would," I admit.

"So, I'm guessing he took you to the airport this afternoon?"

"Yeah, as soon as I dropped you off, I drove back up to the university, got cleaned up, and changed…into my new shirt…" I wave my hand at my torso, like some kind of game show hostess, and she smiles.

"I did notice that! And I was right about that shirt—it's a very good color on you."

I smile. I'd wear a trash bag for her if she asked me to, but I do like this shirt. And I just might have to wear my touristy-but-treasured _Seattle is for Lovers _T-shirt at some point over the next five days. At least to embarrass her, if nothing else.

I order one last round of drinks when our waiter makes an appearance, and then I get back to my play-by-play.

"Anyhow, Mase and I took off for the airport a little before three, and on the way we discussed the things he has to take care of in the next couple days. Then we got to the airport and…we said our goodbyes." I don't tell her how hard that was, especially for me, but she knows. She reaches for my hand and squeezes it.

"He'll be okay, Edward. He's excited about this and he'll be busy."

"I know. He'll probably be more okay than I will."

"Have you talked to him since then?" she asks. I give her a sheepish look and she laughs. "Maybe I should rephrase... _How many times_ have you talked to him since then?"

I hold up two fingers and she laughs as she wraps her arms around me. "Two isn't bad!"

"No, I guess not. I made him call me, so I knew he got back to the dorm okay, after dropping me off. Then I called him to let him I know I'd landed here in San Diego. He told me he had just gotten back from the dining hall with two other guys he met from his floor." Bella's smile broadens.

"There you go. So far, so good—he's already navigating Seattle safely and making friends!"

I nod. "Yeah. But I still might need you to hold my hand and soothe me for the next couple days." She giggles and I make a pouty face at her. "I'm sure that sounded incredibly lame, but seriously, it's no joke." She just laughs harder.

"Well, I'm willing to help distract you however you need me to," she finally says, bumping my shoulder with hers and giving me a wicked little wink.

"Now you're talking," I growl, because that does have possibilities. I'll have to remember to give her the pouty face more often. Having Bella distract me for the next five days sounds wonderful. It's definitely going to be a hell of a lot better than flying back to Chicago _in_ five days and having to distract myself while I miss both her and my kid.

The waiter returns with our final round, and as we polish off our appetizers, we compare the flurry of texts sent between us and her mother, in order for me to arrive at just the right place, at just the right time, to meet up with just the right girl.

"I can't believe you sent me a text asking about the weather here in California, and you were already here in a taxi!"

"I was trying to keep you oblivious with my patented subterfuge technique."

"And you did!" she laughs.

"And even before your mom let me know you were here at the Sunset Bar, that photo you sent me told me everything I needed to know."

"A photo! We should take a photo of us here!" And so we do, cuddled up together with the flames from the fire pit lighting up our happy faces, I snap us a few selfies.

"Send that one to me," she says once she checks them out, but I'm already on it. "And you might as well send it to Mom, too—she's going to ask for pictures anyway, and she's earned the right. Besides, it's after midnight back East, so it's already her birthday. It'll make the perfect present when she finds it in the morning," Bella finishes with a roll of her eyes.

I laugh as I send the photo to Renee with another thank you from the both of us.

Once we're done at the Sunset Bar, we decide we'll take a walk along the beach. Bella hurries off to use the restroom, while I flag down our waiter and pay our bill. I want to be sure nothing further will get billed to Renee. I'm more than happy to pay for the rest of this impromptu vacation with her lovely daughter. Bella will probably put up a fight. But whatever. We can trade off. This dinner is on me.

When Bella returns, she pulls on her cardigan and we leave the warmth of the fire pit and head down to the beach. When we get down to the sand, I take off my shoes and socks and leave them with her sandals in a little pile on the beach. Meanwhile, Bella has gathered up the side of her long, billowy skirt, twisting it and tucking a bit of the hem into her waistband.

"You going clam digging?" I ask and she giggles.

"Not without you! But I would like to get my feet wet, at least."

So I cuff up my jeans as far as I can. Holding hands, we walk barefoot down along the shoreline, picking up the occasional pale shell we spy. Farther from the lights of the hotel, the silvery moonlight guides our hit-and-miss search.

"You're keeping those?" I ask as she tucks a few shells into the small pocket on her cardigan.

"Of course. I'll add them to the collection from our day at Second Beach, last April," she answers, looking up to smile at me.

"Hmm... Well, in the future perhaps we should endeavor to visit as many different beaches together as possible," I suggest. "We can add to our collection each time."

She turns and looks at me. Really looks at me, before answering. "I'd be up for that." Her words are simple but the unspoken sentiment and conviction are clear.

Tugging on her hand, I draw her closer and I step forward to enfold her in my arms. She's smiling as she looks up at me, her hair whipping around her face in the light breeze.

The sky and ocean are black, except for the shimmer of moonlight on the surface and silvery whitewash on the shore, and Bella… Well, I'm convinced she's the loveliest girl I've ever known.

"So, uh, I've been thinking about this upcoming Chicago trip of yours…" I tell her, reaching up to smooth her hair back.

"You have?" she asks with a smile.

I smile back at her and nod. "I have."

"Don't you think we should focus on our San Diego trip for the time being?"

"I suppose that does make sense," I agree with a chuckle. "But actually, I was thinking… Maybe you shouldn't come visit me in Chicago."

"Why not?" she asks, her smile waning quickly.

"Because I've been thinking… Maybe I'll come back here—not to California, but to Washington, I mean." A look of relief spreads over her face and her smile returns.

She nods. "Well, it's up to you… When are you thinking of coming back?"

"As soon as I can work it out. Next month, hopefully." Her smile widens.

"For how long?"

I shrug. "Well, I was kind of thinking, maybe for…_ever_?"

* * *

**A/N: Well, there's that! :) Hope you liked the behind-the-scenes flashback at the beginning. I thought it was the best way to put you in BOTH of their experiences and fill in the blanks. I hope you liked it and will let me know. :)**


	37. In Pursuit of More

**Indelible**

**A/N: **This is a little shorter, but hopefully it's better than waiting a little longer. Once again, I've been delinquent with the review-replies from last chapter, but I'll go back and see what needs addressing. Thanks again for sticking with me (and them)!

* * *

**Chapter 37: In Pursuit of More **

My heart stutters, the air leaves my lungs, and there's a whooshing sound in my ears. "Y-you…_w-what_?" I stammer, staring at Edward in shock, my heart thumping and thudding in my chest because he's thinking about moving to _Washington_?!

His eyes search mine and his mouth twitches, as if he'd like to smile but isn't sure my reaction has given him cause.

"Bella, I love you," he says with conviction, drawing me closer in his arms as we stand along the shore. "I really want more with you than too-short visits, looming departure dates, and weeks or months apart. So, I'm thinking about moving…to Forks…but I need to know how you feel."

Oh my god and holy crap! Not just _Washington_, but _Forks_?! That's crazy! Or he is. He's willing to just give up everything he has in Chicago and move to _Forks_?! For _me_?!

I'm suddenly acutely aware that we're both holding our breath. He's uncertain and waiting, wanting to know how I feel. But I'm feeling lightheaded and dizzy and I'm suffering from thought soup.

"I feel…like my knees are about to give out," I confess, and in the moonlight I can see a definite smile tugging at his lips.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want you collapsing and washing out to sea now," he says with a little smirk. "Come, let's find a dry spot where we can sit and talk."

My thoughts are a jumble of questions and concerns as he guides me away from the shoreline, his arm wrapped securely around me. We move up the beach, where the sand is cool but dry. Dropping down to sit cross-legged in the silvery sand, he smiles as he reaches up, pulling me down to sit across his lap. I wrap an arm around his shoulders, hanging onto him for stability—both literally and figuratively.

"Better?" he asks, looping an arm around my hips, his other hand carefully tucking my wind-blown hair back behind my ear.

"Much. Thank you."

He tilts his head then, his expression so completely earnest as he gazes into my eyes. "Tell me what you're thinking, Bella."

"Edward… I… Wow…" I stop. And then I start again. "You're _serious_? About moving? To _Forks_? Just like _that_?" I can't even speak in fully formed sentences. All I can do to spout rapid-fire half-questions.

"I am," he affirms in a calm voice, his warm eyes intensely focused on mine. "Exactly like that."

"But… This is so _fast_! How can you just suddenly…_move_? You can't do that… _Can_ you?" His lips curve into a smile, hearing that hopeful tone in my voice, even though I'm trying really hard to be pragmatic about this. Someone needs to be the voice of reason. Right?

Reaching up, he smooths the pad of his thumb above the bridge of my nose, responding to a frown of concern I don't even realize I'm wearing. As his gaze drops back to mine, I see a flicker of amusement in his eyes and the tiny lift at the corner of his mouth as his hand reaches for mine, lacing our fingers together.

"Of course I can move, Bella. People move and start over all the time. You just put out the fire, pull up the stakes, fold up the tent and…go."

I can't believe he's making light of this huge decision! He has a great job in Chicago with a possible upcoming promotion. And he has family there. And friends. How can leave it all just like that? Has he really thought this through?

I can't help but worry. Once upon a time he made another impulsive decision that he came to regret—one that we both regretted. What if he comes to regret this one? As much as I want what he's contemplating, I don't want him to make a mistake. Nor do I want to be the reason for one.

"Edward, I would love nothing more than to have you closer, but what about your job? And that promotion you were talking about yesterday at lunch? You're okay with just passing that up?"

"I am," he says with a nod. "It's not a sure thing anyway—it could still go to my friend Pete and probably will if I move. But I could always look into the Victim and Witness Assistance Program in Clallam County, once I pass the Bar Exam in Washington. Or go back to being a prosecutor. With my background and experience, I'm not worried about finding work. There's a lot I could do." He smiles reassuringly. And then his smile becomes more of a smirk. "If worse comes to worst, I can always crank out coffees at the Cup and Saucer or be a stock boy at Newton's."

His unexpected comment strikes me funny and I'm unable to suppress my giggle. He chuckles right along with me, even though I don't share where my thoughts have gone. I can well imagine Jessica neglecting her own work so she can chat up Edward for fresh gossip and stare at his ass all day while he stocks shelves.

"But seriously…" Edward continues after the moment of levity has passed. "For as rewarding as my professional life has been, it's just not going to be enough anymore. My own personal life hasn't been a priority for me in a very long time, but now I have reason to make it one—I have you, and you're an important priority to me now, too. I want a personal life filled with you."

"Oh, Edward…" The sincerity in his voice and longing in his eyes make my heart melt. If this were a Victorian novel, I'd probably be swooning right now. Instead I wrap my arms more tightly around his neck, hugging him, unable to resist kissing him and his sweet mouth.

"So, what else are you worrying about…on my behalf?" he asks, once I've let him go. He gives me that crooked little half-smile—it's a smug little thing and I can't help but laugh at him and his twinkly eyes and smirky-smiley mouth. He knows me so well and I think he knows he's halfway there, convincing me he's more certain than certifiable in regards to relocating. But if our roles were reversed, he'd be doing the same—worrying about my worries for me and with me. And so I bring up another concern.

"You're fine with leaving your family behind?" I ask, knowing he's always been close to his parents—they helped him raise his son, after all.

He nods again. "I can always fly back to visit my folks, or they can fly out, but the most important part of my family is already in Seattle, and will be for the foreseeable future. And if I live closer to Mase that will undoubtedly alleviate a lot of stress for me and probably stave off a few gray hairs." I smile, certain he's right—heck, there's a good chance he'd pull much of that lovely hair out, worrying from afar.

"It _would_ be nice for you to be able to see Masen more often than holidays and summers. I'm sure it would be good for both of you—and for your glorious coif, of course." He chuckles and nods, sliding his arms up around me, inside my cardigan. Fleetingly I wonder if he's getting cold out here without a jacket, but before I can ask, his expression grows more serious once again as he continues speaking.

"The thing is…when I think about returning to Chicago now, it's just so depressing. The two people I love most will be in Washington. So I know this seems quick, but believe me, I have thought this through and I'm sure about this. I'm very sure about _this_…" His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer, and intuitively I know he means _us_ and what has reignited between us. "I want to pursue _this_…I want to pursue _you_…but not from halfway across the country or when time permits."

My heart does a cartwheel at his fervent declaration and the promising and smoldering look in his eyes. But he's not alone in his thoughts and desires. I want to pursue this as much as he does. He only wants to move things forward and the only way to do that, clearly, is for one of us to move. Reaching up, I caress his lovely, handsome face and tell him how I feel.

"Honestly, I've been thinking about the same thing, Edward. I want more with you on a more regular basis, too. I just didn't figure we'd be addressing the logistics of that so quickly." He smiles, clearly happy to hear that I want what he does.

"Well, what can I say?" he asks with a grin. "Delayed gratification is totally overrated. I don't want to wait for some imaginary cautionary waiting period to pass. I'm impatient and eager and I'm literally ready to _move _on." I smile at him. At least he's honest and it does appear our feelings for each other have already withstood the test of time.

"You don't want me to consider moving to Chicago?" I ask, because I feel like I should put it out there.

He blinks, and frowns. "Why? Do you…_want_ to move to Chicago?"

Crap. Now that he's asking, I don't know what answer to give him. I wasn't exactly expecting this topic of conversation. And I'm not exactly anxious to live in a major city. Been there, done that with Mom a few times.

"Well…I mean…I don't know," I tell him. "I haven't really…thought about it. I've never been there…so of course I don't know what Chicago is like." He grins at my rambling half-assed answer, but it's all I've got. He snorts a laugh, shaking his head, and I know he saw right through my half-assed, rambled bullshit.

"Well, just so you know, Bella… Chicago is the third largest city in the U.S. It's like Seattle on steroids. It's Seattle…times _four_. The summers are hotter and more humid, and the winters are colder and longer. And it is the Windy City, so it's windy as well, obviously. But I don't want you thinking you have to move there to accommodate me.

"You just got your own life settled in Forks and I don't want to uproot you if you're happy there. And I still have friends there and I have good memories of the years I lived there. The slower pace, the small town feel, and the tight-knit community appeal to me. You don't get all that living in a city, and I kind of miss those things now that I've experienced them again. Forks just feels kind of…homey, you know?" I nod.

"It does have a definite appeal," I agree. "And I _am_ happy in Forks. Even with Dad gone, I still feel connected to him there, and my friends really have become like family to me." Edward nods, his eyes soft and understanding.

"I know. And I don't want you to give that up. So, I'd really like to come back."

Putting it like that, I wonder if a part of him, in his own Edward way, is trying to make amends for the heart-breaking decision he made years ago. But even if that is partly the case, I'm not going to try to talk him out of it. Maybe he needs that, even if I don't. And down the road, if staying in Forks isn't the right decision for him, he can always…like he said… 'put out the fire, pull up the stakes, fold up the tent and go.' And I can go with him. Because I would. For him I would.

"When did you decide all this?" I ask, suddenly curious, knowing it can't possibly have been long in the works. He smiles sheepishly, telling me I'm right before he even explains.

"It's been on my mind as we've grown closer, but I guess I really thought it all through primarily…last night…or maybe it was early this morning…I don't know which. But I really feel like it's the right thing to do and it's what I want to do."

I nod, smiling at him. My poor, sweet man can't have slept very much last night…or this morning.

"So…?" he asks anxiously, skimming a hand through his hair. "What do you think?" I smile at him and his telltale nervous tic.

But considering what he's suggesting… We've been in each other's thoughts and hearts for so long, maybe it's time for our adventure together to begin.

"Well, Edward, what I think is…I should still come to Chicago…and I can help you pack."

His lips part in surprise and then curl up into a face-splitting grin. "Seriously?!" he laugh-gasps.

"Yes. Seriously." I nod, smiling my own face-splitting grin.

"Yes! Whoo-hoo! Yes!" His exuberant shouts and the pure, unadulterated joy on his face are infectious. I'm laughing at him and with him, clutching him as he clutches me hard to his chest.

"She said _yes_!" he yells over my shoulder. Turning my head, I see a couple walking down along the shore, staring at us in all our commotion.

"Edward!" I smack him on the chest even as we hear a "Congratulations!" called back in response. My face heats instantly. They must surely assume I've just accepted a marriage proposal, and the last thing I need is for Edward to get any other wild ideas tonight.

But Edward just laughs, looking back at me in his arms. "What?!"

"You're just…crazy," I tell him, deflecting.

"Crazy for you, Bella Swan… Always crazy for you," he says happily, snuggling me close.

"And I'm hopelessly crazy for you, Edward Cullen," I reply with a content sigh of my own.

He smiles exultantly and kisses the tip of my nose. Suddenly we're tipping over. I shriek before I realize he's merely pulling me down with him as he lies back, stretched out and towel-free on the sand. But my position is awkward. I'm afraid I'll injure a crucial body part of his—which would put a real damper on our now-even-more-romantic impromptu tryst vacation—so I try to carefully move off of him. But he's not having it. He just growls and pulls me back, adjusting me more comfortably…and safely…over him and his crucial body part.

His arms wrap around me as I lie atop him and we begin kissing. In the sand. In the dark. By the sea. We can't stop smiling at each other between kisses, like a couple of goofy teenagers with no place to take our horny selves but a deserted beach. Of course this beach isn't deserted, and we're definitely not teens, but with Edward's hands already moving down to my backside, horny is clearly within our grasp.

"You'll really come help me pack?" he asks, straddling the line between happy and horny as he presses me down over his already hard, crucial body part.

"Of course, I will," I assure him, planting a smiling kiss on his smiling lips.

"And will you help me look for a place to live?" he asks, multi-tasking as he moves me slightly over him.

"Yes. I'll do whatever you need." I kiss the soft underside of his jaw. "I just hope you won't regret doing this." He stops the push and pull, his hands moving up to frame my face, as he tips his head up, looking at me intently.

"I could never regret this, Bella. My only regret will ever be that this didn't happen years ago. But we'll just have to make up for lost time, okay?"

I nod. "We will. We definitely will, Edward." And with that he wraps his hand around the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to his, and he kisses me. _Really_ kisses me. It's slow and deep and it feels like a pact and a promise, filled with hope for the future.

When we come up for air, I push myself up to straddle him. We're both breathless, chests rising and falling, mouths worked over but anxious for more. And damn, if horny doesn't look good on Edward. It's almost hard to look at him—his masculine beauty, combined with that dark, love-lust heat in his eyes. There's just no disguising it. He takes my breath away and I already have so little to spare.

"We should probably think about taking this inside," I suggest, trying to keep a level head even as his hands slip beneath the rucked-up fabric of my skirt and his deft fingers begin ghosting up along the bare skin of my thighs.

He blinks, like he's been carried away on the wings of desire, completely forgetting where we are. Squeezing my legs gently in a brief, wistful goodbye, he withdraws his hands and sits up.

"You're right. This really isn't the proper place to celebrate," he murmurs, leaning into me and trailing kisses along my neck as I wrap my arms around him.

And feel sand all over the back of his shirt.

And in his hair.

"Oh, God… Edward, you have sand everywhere!" I giggle, running my fingers through his hair while plucking at the back of his shirt to rid both of the sand. At least it's dry and falls away easily.

"Clearly, you had me distracted and I wasn't thinking…clearly," he says, tipping his head back, ruffling and raking his own fingers through his hair more vigorously.

After he helps me up from his lap, I take his outstretched hands and pull him to his feet. Before swatting the sand off the back and sides of his jeans, he makes an adjustment in the front of them. And I just can't resist commenting.

"You've just got all kinds of issues, don't you?" I ask, stifling my giggle but unable to stifle my blush.

"My issues are all your fault," he says, unembarrassed and shooting me a sexy grin.

"_My_ fault?!" I laugh. "I didn't ask you to be my human beach towel!"

He chuckles as he peels off his shirt, leaving him half-naked, barefoot, and beautiful in the moonlight. As if I didn't already have enough issues of my own... We really need to get back to the hotel so we can work on our issues together and do better than a _half_-naked Edward.

"Here, use this to brush off my back—I think I got a little sand down my shirt." He hands me his shirt and turns around, and I do as he asked.

"At least you seem willing to help me out with my issues," he observes after a moment, looking over his shoulder with another smirky grin. Sexy smart-ass.

"Well, this is the only issue I'm helping you with out here." I shake out his shirt before returning it to him. "Your other issue will have to wait until we get to the room," I tease, proud of my own sexy smart-ass self as he blinks eyes that grow more heated than smirky.

Yanking on his shirt he reaches for my hand. "Well, let's get going, then. I'll race you back to the hotel."

I laugh as we start heading back across the sand, walking with far more purpose than our earlier casual stroll out here.

"This won't be a very competitive race if you hold my hand the whole way," I point out.

"I don't want you falling behind. I'd hate to get there first and have to start without you." His mouth curves in a smug little smirk as he side-eyes me. Yeah, that's a definite visual to make a girl blush. And he knows it. And I snort a little laugh because I can see he's proud of himself.

Slipping my hand from his, I break into a jog. "See you when you get there!" I call over my shoulder. I hear his bark of surprised laughter and then I hear him running behind me, keeping up easily.

We're so caught up in our rush to return to the hotel, that we bypass our sandals and shoes, piled somewhere in the sand. "Keep going," Edward says when we remember them. "I'll find them and catch up."

"Hurry! Don't make me start without you!" I call after him as he turns back toward the beach. His response is something between a groan and a laugh and I'm giggling and mentally patting myself on the back.

Once he catches up, we decide to duck into the Sunset Bar's restrooms to use the facilities and clean the remaining sand off our hands and feet. When I step back outside, he's already waiting for me, sport shoes on his feet, the tops of his white socks dangling from the back pocket of his jeans. Taking each other's hands once again, we hurry along the walkway back to the hotel.

*I*

We're nearly to the elevator when Edward stops abruptly, exhaling a low oath and rolling his eyes.

"What?" I ask.

"I left my bag with the bellman! I was too anxious to get to you when I arrived. See how distracting you are?" I laugh, already tugging us in the direction of the front desk.

After retrieving his bag, we hurry back to the old historic elevator with its brass filigree grate. Inside is an actual elevator operator—an older man who introduces himself as Afton—which means there will be no torrid make-out session until Edward and I get to our room. Afton makes friendly conversation with us as we endure the slow ride to our floor. Of course Edward and I are polite, but I wonder if the poor man feels the electricity vibrating off of us.

Arriving on our floor, we exchange goodnights with Afton, and as the elevator begins its descent Edward and I are already striding quickly down the hallway to our room. Jittery with anticipation, I get the giggles, and Edward starts chuckling too. Our intent is so obvious we might as well be sprinting. I start pulling off my cardigan and his room key is out and at the ready, before we've even reached our door.

Unlocking it quickly when we get there, we burst into the room, laughing at ourselves as I fling my sweater onto a chair and Edward unceremoniously drops his bag to the floor. He shoves the door closed behind us, and I'd pull him to me but he's already on me, pressing me up against the wall. With one hand on my jaw and the other curled around the back of my neck, he crushes his mouth to mine. Reaching up over his shoulders, I twine my fingers into his hair, holding him close, and swallowing his low growl as he grinds his hips into mine.

When I feel him toeing off his shoes, I quickly follow suit, kicking my sandals to the side. We move toward the bed in fits and starts and a trail of clothing follows us. I yank off my top as he loses his shirt, then his mouth returns to mine while his fingers work the hooks of my bra. Sliding my hands down his bare chest and stomach, I reach between us, unbuttoning his jeans. He slips off my bra and I shove his pants and boxers down off his hips. Distracted by so much skin, we take a moment, touching and teasing, stroking and gasping. I'm writhing by the time we part, and pushing my skirt down, it floats to a puddle at my feet. Shoving his jeans and boxers off, Edward kicks them aside. Finally, his hands skim down my legs, ridding me of my panties as we arrive at our destination.

Edward yanks back the covers and follows me down onto the bed. I pull him on top of me, wanting to feel the full weight of him, pinning me in place. I hold him there as he kisses me hard on the mouth, and I open to him, inviting him in, needing and wanting nothing more than this closest of connections with this man. His beautiful hungry eyes remain locked on mine as he lifts his weight to his forearms and presses forward with a long, hard stroke. We quickly find our rhythm among deep thrusts and rolling hips, fierce kisses and lust-laden breaths. With whispered words of love and desire, we push each other onward and upward.

This feels so urgent, the passion more incredibly intense than either last night or this morning. But we're no longer rekindling a long lost past. Now we're forging a new future.

* * *

**A/N: Well, he included her in his rash decision-making process this time around. ;) I hope you'll share your thoughts. **


	38. In Close Personal Contact

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Apologies for the lack of replies to reviews last chapter. About a handful of chapters to go.

Meanwhile…back to a future in the works…

* * *

**C-38: In Close Personal Contact **

It's a beautiful sunny Monday morning in San Diego—late Monday morning. But after a lovely and lusty Sunday night and two encores this morning, Edward and I are well on our way to making up for lost time. I just hope my crucial body parts can keep up with his.

"What do you feel like doing today?" I ask, removing the damp towel from my hair and hanging it up in the still-steamy bathroom.

He halts the movement of his razor along his jaw. Looking at me in the mirror, a smirk lifts his lips and the smolder flares in his eyes. "You have to ask?" he wonders aloud.

"Besides that!" I laugh, blushing at my sexy man, with his towel slung low on his hips. "We just did that and I'm sure we'll do it again today at some point."

"Promise?" The mirror reflects his loved-up grin and sparkly eyes as he resumes shaving.

"Cross my heart." I give him a loved-up smile of my own as I begin combing out my wet hair. "Now that that's been established, what _else_ would you like to do today?"

He makes a final swipe with his razor before rinsing it off and wiping his face clean of shaving cream. "Well, since we're _at_ the beach, I think we should _go_ _to_ the beach. But I'll have to do a little shopping first."

"The beach sounds good to me. What do you need to buy?"

"Just a few things," he says, turning and resting his hands and towel-clad butt against the edge of the counter, watching me comb through my hair. "I didn't exactly pack for a hot romantic tryst in San Diego, you know?" Cue the crooked half-smile and sex-laser eyes.

"A_ hot _romantic tryst, huh?" I'm flattered and rather proud of myself. He's certainly had _me_ all hot and bothered, but I'm pretty sure I've given as good as I've gotten.

"Definitely _hot_," he agrees. "Sultry and steamy, in fact." His eyes flit to the shower—the scene of our most recent romp. "So I need to buy some shorts, flip-flops, and a pair of board shorts to keep cool." He ends his comments with a teasing grin—as if he's only been referring to the weather and not the sex. It _is_ warm here in San Diego, but it's certainly neither _sultry_ nor _steamy_.

"You're a jerk!" I laugh. I'd smack him on the arm but my hands are busy detangling my hair, so I hip check him instead, dislodging his butt from the counter. Knocked off balance, he takes a step, catching himself as he bursts into laughter at my reaction. He reaches for me, laughing and grinning as he steps up behind me, arms wrapping around my towel-wrapped torso, green eyes twinkling at me in the mirror.

I ignore him and go about my hair-combing—as if I'm truly offended—but I'm having a hard time stifling my smile.

"I'm sorry, love. I couldn't resist," he chuckles. Moving my still-damp hair to the side, he kisses his way along my shoulder and neck, his eyes on mine in the mirror as he attempts to get back in my good graces. "You definitely bring the serious heat to this _hot_ romantic tryst," he murmurs. And then his eyebrows lift as he awaits my verdict on his apology.

"That's pouring it on a little thickly. But if you promise me a conciliatory cup of coffee in town, you're forgiven." The boyish grin returns to his face and his arms squeeze me as he plants a noisy kiss on my cheek, making me laugh.

"No problem. I'll even throw in a conciliatory croissant…or a mollifying muffin."

"Now you're talking." I set down my comb, and turning my face to his, we exchange a kiss. And then another. Smiling all the while. He grins happily and pats me on the butt, and then, turning, he removes his towel and hangs it neatly over the shower door. And as I begin blow-drying my hair, my eyes are on the mirror, following his divine behind out of the bathroom.

When I look back at myself in the mirror, I'm still smiling—at him, at me, and at this unexpected reality.

*I*

A short while later, Edward and I head into Coronado on foot to do a little shopping and exploring. I'm already dressed for the beach, in flip-flops, a bathing suit, and shorts and a tank top over it. My straw bag is a purse-beach-tote-hybrid, carrying my wallet, phone, and chapstick, as well as sunscreen and our Mariners caps—my old black one and the one Masen gave Edward yesterday morning.

Edward looks like he's ready to shoot some hoops in his basketball shorts, T-shirt and sport shoes. But he still looks good enough to eat—tall, lean, and muscled, unruly hair, and though his eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, his strong jaw and expressive mouth are enough to keep my rapt attention.

We walk along Orange Avenue hand-in-hand, checking out shops, eateries and bars, and stop for breakfast at a crowded little coffee shop. Getting in line with other assorted vacationers and locals, we look over our choices and make our decisions, and then Edward tells me to look for a table outside while he places our order.

I stake my claim at a table beneath an umbrella, and once I sit, I decide to give Mom a quick call to wish her a happy birthday, while I wait for Edward.

Thankfully I turned my phone off last night after texting Mom a thank you, because once Edward and I got to our room, my mind certainly wasn't on recharging my phone. Turning it back on now, I see it still has a decent charge. And I see that I've got a text from Mom, sent very early this morning.

It's a group text to both Edward and me—probably in response to our thank-yous and the photo Edward sent last night, of us at the Sunset Bar. I hold my breath as I read, hoping Mom didn't say anything too cringe-worthy.

**Hi, you two! I'm so glad this vacation rendezvous worked out for you! Loved seeing your happy, smiling faces together! I hope you are enjoying yourselves, San Diego, and each other! **

That wasn't too bad, considering this is Mom. Just the last line where she hopes we're enjoying each other made me cringe, but Edward and I certainly have been enjoying each other and Mom must suspect as much. Looking back into the coffee shop, I can see Edward is just placing our order now, so I go ahead and make the call to Mom.

She answers almost immediately, so I guess she's been waiting for the call I promised last night.

"_Hi, Bella!"_

"Hey, Mom. Happy birthday!"

"_Thank you! Did you get my text?"_

"Yeah, I did. And thank you again. This was so incredibly nice of you."

"_I'm just so happy Edward was able to join you! You must have been quite surprised to see your handsome man."_

"Oh, my god…_shocked_ is more like it!" I smile, listening to her gleeful laugh, knowing she's mentally patting herself on the back.

"_Well, seeing that photo of the two of you this morning was the perfect birthday gift. All I want is for you to be happy, Bella, and I can tell Edward has been making you happy. After talking to him on the phone last week, he seems like the same sweet young man on the inside. And judging by the two recent photos of him I've seen, he's only gotten hunkier on the outside!" _

I'd roll my eyes if I weren't in total agreement. "Yeah he is…and…he has. And I _am_ happy. He makes me very happy."

"_Oh, that's just wonderful, baby. I'm so glad." _I can hear her smiling. I am, too.

"_So, how's the hotel? Is the room nice?"_

"The hotel is beautiful and the room is just perfect—we have a lovely view of the beach."

"_Good. So, have you two made plans to do anything exciting…or…romantic?"_

"Um…not yet…really…" Except for Edward's whirlwind plan to move to Forks, which falls into both categories, but which I'm not ready to divulge to her just yet. Edward and I haven't discussed it any further this morning and I'd rather be cautious. So I just tell Mom our plans for the day.

"We just walked into town and stopped for coffee and a bite to eat, so I thought I'd give you a call while Edward gets our order. We're going to do a little shopping and then head back to the hotel and go to the beach. We'll probably check out the pool later, too."

"_Well, I won't keep you on the phone long, but that sounds like a relaxing way to spend the day and enjoy some couple-time together. Sometimes the best plans are no plans at all…" _

I nod at her words. More than anything else, I'm looking forward to just spending time with Edward, no matter what that involves. But I don't want to give her the chance to offer suggestions as to how we might best spend couple-time together, so I turn the conversation around to her.

"What about you? Are you doing anything special today for your birthday?"

"_Phil made dinner reservations at a nice steak and seafood restaurant on the riverfront, but I think that's about it. I doubt we can get into too much trouble in Chattanooga on a Monday night." _

She laughs and I smile. If it were the weekend, Phil would probably indulge her with some bar-hopping and dancing with some of the other coaches and players and their wives and girlfriends, but given that it's a Monday night, the nightlife is likely lacking.

"Well, I'm sorry we won't be celebrating your birthday together, but I'm sure you'll have a nice dinner with Phil. I have a card and a gift I'd planned to give you, but I'll put them in the mail as soon as I can." Edward approaches the table and I mouth he word "Mom" to him. He smiles and nods as he sets down a small tray holding our coffees and food, and then pulls out the chair next to mine.

"_No worries, Bella. All I really want is for you and Edward to enjoy yourselves and each other—has he come back yet?"_

"Yeah, he just did, actually." I smile at Edward, busy distributing coffees, napkins, plastic spoons, muffins, and a fresh fruit and yogurt cup to share. He smiles back, aware we're talking about him.

"_Well, I won't keep you. You two just have a lovely time, enjoy yourselves and each other, and send me a few photos, and I'll be happy."_

"Okay, Mom. We'll make sure we do _all_ of that." Edward's brows lift above his sunglasses, as if in alarm, and I stifle a snort of laughter—like he's sure Mom is giving me helpful romantic tryst tips.

"_Thanks for calling, Bella. Say hi to Edward for me."_

"I will. Enjoy your birthday, Mom, and tell Phil I said hi."

"_Okay. Bye, baby. I love you."_

"Love you too, Mom. Talk to you soon." I set my phone down and smile at Edward as I reach for my coffee cup.

"Mom says hi." I tell him before taking a sip of my coffee.

He nods as he removes the paper liner from his banana nut muffin. "Did I miss anything good and embarrassing?"

I shake my head as I unwrap my blueberry muffin."No, that was actually an unusually normal conversation for my mother. She just said she hopes we have a good time and wants us to send a few photos. Oh—did you see the text she sent us this morning?"

He halts his piece of muffin mid-way to his mouth. "Oh, shoot. I forgot to mention that to you. You were still sleeping when I got the text. I figured it was Mase at first. Then after I read it, I went back to sleep and forgot all about it when we woke up later. You had me a little distracted, if you remember?" Even with sunglasses shielding his eyes, the sexy crooked smile is enough to get the full effect.

I nod, feeling my face heat. "I do remember that. And it's just as well you forgot to mention it—that might have distracted me from being so…_distracting_."

His nostrils flare as his smile verges on the wicked. "That would have been unfortunate—I thoroughly enjoyed your patented distraction technique." Seriously, I must look like a tomato smiling back at him.

"Eat your muffin," I tell him, thinking I'm putting an end to the _distracting_ innuendo. But that's not the case, of course. He raises his eyebrows and his smile curls into a grin, and before he even opens his mouth, his obvious comeback is already ringing in my ears.

"I'd rather eat _your_…"

"Stop it, Edward!" I laugh, cutting him off before he can finish.

"What?! That thing is chock full of blueberries!" He grins like an adolescent boy as he indicates my _actual_ muffin on the table.

"Just eat your breakfast!" I stuff a piece of muffin in my mouth and look away, rolling my eyes. But out of the corner of my eye I can see him shaking with silent laughter, and I'm right back in that high school Biology class years ago. Flustered and off-balance in the presence of this cute boy—who happens to think _I'm cute_ when he gets me all flustered and off-balance.

He reaches for my hand, tugging it over to his lap, enfolding it between his much larger hands as he hunches forward and closer. His smile is dazzling when I look at him.

"I can't wait to do this on a regular basis," he says in a low voice.

"Tease me and make me blush?"

He shakes his head and his smile softens. "Just…_everything_…"

Sometimes the simplest things he says just take my breath away. Like that. Clearly he isn't having any second thoughts about moving. Closing the distance between us as he meets me halfway, aware of my intent, I kiss that sweet mouth of his.

"I can't wait either. I love you," I tell him.

"I love _you_," he murmurs, moving in for another kiss.

*I*

After finishing our late breakfast, we continue down the street, where we've been told we'll find a surf shop. My arm is around Edward's waist and his hand—well, half of it—is tucked into the back pocket of my shorts. My phone chimes with a text, and when I take it out of my bag, I see it's from Angela. Two photos with messages. I push my sunglasses up on my head, so I can see what I'm looking at.

The first photo is Beth and Andy sitting on the couch, with Fitz sitting up between them. They're petting him and they all appear to be watching TV—even Fitz. I grin as I read Angela's caption.

**Guess who fitz right in with the other kids?**

The second photo is just Fitz, smiling his doggie-smile, forepaws stretched out in front of him. His toenails—or maybe they're _fingernails_ in this instance—are painted with bright blue nail polish, and the caption makes me giggle.

**Beth's first ever pawdicure. (If Fitz wasn't short-haired, he'd probably have braids too.)**

Another message pops up. This one without a photo.

**As you can see, everything and everyone here is fine. **** Hope you and your mom are having a wonderful time. (?) **

Angela can't come right out and ask if I'm here with Edward instead of Mom, in case that plan never came to fruition—in which case I wouldn't have been the wiser. But that little question mark tells me she's clearly dying to know if the San Diego-Switch-up happened. I need to text her back, but I'll wait and do it later. In the meantime, I share the photos and messages with Edward.

"Angela's funny and Fitz just go along with _whatever_," he observes with a chuckle.

"Yeah. They're both good friends and they certainly keep me entertained."

"Are you going to tell her?" he asks, and I smile. There's more than curiosity in his question and bright sparkly eyes. I get the feeling he'd like me to—and that's just as well, since I've pretty much kept Angela in the loop on everything regarding him.

"That you're here with me? Or that you've decided to move?" I ask, wondering where he stands on the latter.

"Either. Both." He shrugs, smiling that boyish smile, and my heart just melts. It makes his decision to move feel all the more real—like we'd be setting it in motion if we tell others.

"Yeah, I'll text her back and tell her both. She'll be happy for us." Then I think maybe he's wondering if I mentioned it to Mom. "I didn't mention your move to my mom. I wasn't really sure if I should, and it would have just meant endless questions—and I already have plans for my day." He chuckles.

Then I'm curious. "Does Masen know you were thinking about this?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet. I'm assuming he stayed up late last night and slept in, so I'll call him later on to check in and see how his first night in the dorm went. And I'll tell him then." I nod, and looking up, I realize we've arrived at our shopping destination.

Edward ushers me into Island Surf—a colorful, bright and airy surf shop. We're greeted by a sandy-haired youth who looks like he'd probably prefer to be out surfing rather than in here, selling surfing gear and clothing. He offers his assistance and Edward thanks him, telling him we'll look around and let him know if we need help with anything.

I quickly learn that Edward is really picky about his board shorts. They can't be too bright, too wild, too long, or too short. He settles on a black pair with aqua trim that seem to fit his criteria. Next, he browses the shorts, choosing a pair in dark gray and another in a light khaki. With only T-shirts and two polos left for his trip, he decides to peruse the short-sleeved collared shirts, and he wants my input. Together we pick out a soft blue chambray and a light green and pale gray plaid.

I wait near the dressing rooms while he goes to try everything on, and after a minute or so, I decide I might as well reply to Angela's texts while he's busy.

**I'm glad to hear everything and everyone there is fine. Mom and I are having a wonderful time. She's having her wonderful time in Chattanooga, with Phil and the team. And I'm having my wonderful time in San Diego. With Edward. ;)**

I send the message just as Edward emerges from the dressing room in the khaki shorts and chambray shirt. "What do you think?" he asks.

"That looks really good." He looks ridiculously good, but it's the perfect excuse to ogle him. "Turn around." I smile as he does so. He's all shoulders. And he has the best legs. And don't even get me started on the contents of his pants—front or back. "You should get both of those."

"Yeah, I think I will." He disappears back into the dressing room, and seconds later my phone chimes with Angela's response.

**OMG! HE'S THERE! I can't believe you're texting ME while you're on vacation with EDWARD CULLEN! What the hell is wrong with you, Swan?!**

I stifle my laugh and quickly type out my reply.

**Nothing is wrong with me. We're shopping, he's trying on clothing, and between ogling him in his potential purchases, I can text you! **

Edward reappears, dressed in the gray shorts and the green and gray plaid shirt. "Does this look okay?"

No. It looks wonderful. Or maybe splendid. I tell him to turn around again. Because I can and he will. "Yeah. I really like that shirt with those shorts."

"They're not too dark for the shirt?"

"No. They don't have to match exactly—the color is fine." And the fit is even finer.

"Okay. I'll just try on the board shorts and I'll be done." As he ducks back into the dressing room, I look down at my phone just as a new message arrives.

**Are you guys having a truly wonderful time?**

I smile.

**The absolute best. So much has happened since we saw you Thursday night. I'm in love. He's in love. And…one of us is moving back to Forks… **

Angela is going to flip.

Edward steps out in the board shorts—shirtless. "I think these are fine," he says, looking down past his toned chest and abdomen and then up at me. And then he turns, without me asking this time. Yep. Everything is incredibly _fine_.

"Yeah, those are perfect." And this is the most exhilarating clothing shopping trip I've ever experienced.

"I just need to round up some sandals and we can go," he says, returning to the dressing room.

My phone rings with an incoming call. Not a text. I answer it quickly and quietly.

"Hi, Angela."

"_Seriously?! He's moving to Forks?!" _

I nod, grinning at her excitement, even though she can't see me. "Yeah… He is."

"_When?!"_

"I think he's thinking next month-ish?"

"_Next MONTH?! Oh my god! This is serious! He's serious!"_

I can't help smiling. "Yeah. It feels that way—for me too."

"_Oh, Swan…I'm so happy for you. Both of you. I don't even care that I just shrieked my head off in front of my customers and employees."_

I giggle as I look up to see Edward approaching, watching me, smiling, eyebrows pulled together as he mouths "_Angela?_" I nod and his smile widens.

"_Can I tell Ben? He hasn't quit talking about how nice it was to see Edward the other evening."_

"Can she tell Ben?" I ask Edward.

"Sure." He looks so happy I wrap my arm around his and pull him closer, smiling up at him as I speak into the phone.

"Edward says, sure."

"_Aww…_ _You guys have made my day. Seriously. I have a crush on you both. And now I'm going to let you off the phone, so you can get back to your shopping and ogling, and I can go call Ben. _

"Okay," I laugh. "Tell everyone we said hi, and give Fitz a hug and a kiss for me."

"_Will do. You guys have a great rest of the week!"_

"We will. Thanks, Angela. Take care." I tuck my phone into my bag, smiling at Edward.

"So…?" he prompts, taking my hand as we head for the display of sandals.

"So… She was happy to hear you made it here and that we've had such a wonderful time together already. And I'm pretty sure she publicly embarrassed herself at work, screaming about you moving back to Forks. Then she had to get off the phone so she could immediately call Ben."

Edward laughs at my summary, but I'm sure he feels good knowing our friends are happy to hear he's planning to return.

Once Edward selects a pair of sturdy black flip-flops and pays for his purchases, our shopping trip is complete and we're ready for an afternoon at the beach.

*I*

By the time we walk back to the hotel, it's nearly one o'clock and Edward and I have decided to split up to save a little time. He's going to run up to our room to drop off his things and get changed. Meanwhile, I'll go pick up towels and find us a spot on the beach.

"It'll probably be more crowded right out in front of the hotel, so do you want to head down to where we walked last night and I'll look for you there?" Edward suggests.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Just don't sit with the wrong woman—I'll be the one with the black Mariners cap on my head." Edward chuckles as he leans in, kissing me on the temple as he pats me on the behind.

"Well, I only have eyes for you, so you'll be easy to find." With a wink and a lopsided smile, he heads for the elevator and I head outside.

Picking up complimentary towels at a cabana, I notice they offer food and beverage service on the beach, in case we get hungry or thirsty or feel like having a cocktail. There are beach luxuries available for full-day rental, too, and I can see them dotting the beach: sand chairs, fringed beach umbrellas, and half-moon mini-cabanas with cushioned beach beds. But they're rather pricey, and Edward and I always managed quite well with just a couple towels at the beach.

It's definitely crowded directly in front of the hotel. I pass couples and families with children, playing along the shore and swimming. Walking down the beach, I see vacationers on the shore and in the water with rental skim boards, body boards, surfboards, and paddleboards.

Setting up camp where we were last night, I spread out two towels next to each other and fold up two more for pillows, creating a little beach luxury of our own. Slipping off my flip-fops, tank top and shorts, I sit down. I put on my cap, place Edward's on the corner of his towel, and I keep an eye out for him as I start slathering on the sunscreen.

Finally I see him, walking this way along the beach. He's kind of hard to miss—tall and auburn-haired, with that distinctive long-legged lope of his. Dangling his new flip-flops from one hand, I realize he's holding his phone to his ear in the other—probably talking to Masen. He scans the beach and when he looks in my direction, he lifts his sandal-holding-hand in a wave. Turning away from the shoreline, he makes his way up the sand, ending his call on the way.

He's all smiles as he approaches. "Hey, you," he says in greeting, tossing his wallet and phone into my tote bag.

"Hey, yourself," I reply, watching him as he drops his sandals next to his towel and then drops himself down onto it. He pulls off his T-shirt, tossing it into the tote, and then he stretches out on his side, facing me, head propped up in his hand. Smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

"What?" I ask, scooting closer and mirroring his position. His grin is infectious.

"So… It looks like I'll be good to go in a month," he announces, still looking like he can barely contain himself. "That'll give them time to fly the position I'll be vacating, and it'll give me time—not much, but enough—to list the house and pack up."

It takes me a moment to catch up and catch on.

"You called _work_?!" I ask, blinking in surprise. He nods. "Just now?!" He takes a deep breath and exhales a chuckle, nodding again.

"I wanted to give Russ a heads up," he says, meaning his boss, Fred Russell, the director of the Victim and Witness Assistance Unit. "I figured I might as well start the ball rolling now, rather than wait until I get back. Tomorrow I'll contact HR to get the paperwork started, and I'll probably give my folks a call, too—my mom has a friend who's a realtor." His excitement is palpable—a jumpy exhilaration with butterflies. Or maybe those are _my_ butterflies, _for_ him.

"Oh, my god, this is _really_ happening," I exhale, and he laughs as he reaches for my hand, tugging it towards him.

But then his expression sobers, and pulling off his sunglasses, he reaches out and removes mine. Grasping my hand again, he pulls it to his chest, his hand covering mine.

"You're not having any second thoughts about this, are you?" His eyes search mine, his heart pounding beneath my palm.

"No! Oh, Edward, no. None at all. Not about us, or this," I tell him earnestly, and he must feel reassured, because his soft smile returns. "I just worry. Aren't you the least bit _worried_? About starting over…with _everything_?"

"It's of a leap of faith, Bella," he says, his thumb softly rubbing the back of my hand. "But I _have _faith—in myself, in you, and us. And I feel more like I'm coming full circle than starting over—pursuing what I should have continued to pursue years ago. If I have you—your love and support—everything else will work out." His words leave me touched and teary, and I'm amazed again, that life has led us back to each other.

"You do have me, Edward. That's the one thing you don't have to worry about." Tugging my hand free, I pull him over, until he's on his stomach, more on my towel than his, and I pull him down and kiss him thoroughly.

When he finally pulls back, he doesn't go far. Skimming his nose along mine, we smile and exchange soft little nips and nibbles.

"So… Are you available mid-July?" he asks between kisses. "We could go on a date, somewhere in Forks?"

I smile up at his sweet, happy face. "Which July?"

He tips his head back and laughs. "All of the Julys, I hope. But let's start with this one."

"For you, I'm available."

*I*

A little while later, Edward decides to give Masen a call to find out how his first night went, and to tell him the big news. I offer to go for a walk, to give him a little privacy, but Edward looks at me like I'm crazy and tells me to stay. I guess this is where my being supportive in this whole endeavor begins. So I stay, but I tell Edward not to put the call on speaker—he can fill me in later if he wants, and Masen can freely share his thoughts.

With his sunglasses still lying on his towel, I can see Edward's whole face—and fatherly anticipation—as he sits up and makes the call to his son.

"Hey, Mase," he says in greeting. "I thought I'd call and see how you're doing."

He gives me a thumb's up after a moment and we exchange a smile.

"Good. How'd you sleep last night—or maybe I should ask, did you?"

He looks at me, sliding his phone away from his mouth. "He went to bed after four," he murmurs.

I smile. Masen sounds like a typical new student, living in a dorm.

"Yeah, I kind of doubted you'd get to bed at a reasonable time," Edward tells him, and then he grins and stifles a laugh before continuing.

"Well, I'm glad you're meeting people. So what time did you get up? I didn't wake you, did I?"

It's got to be after one thirty, but if Masen went to bed after four, he must have slept the morning away.

Edward laughs. "Well, have one of your protein bars and offer one to Riley. Just make sure you don't fall asleep and miss dinner, too."

I stifle a giggle and grin at Edward. His poor son must have slept through the lunch hour.

There's a long pause as Edward listens before speaking up again, with a grin on his face. "So, this is meet-the-parents-night?"

He looks at me, murmurs "Bree," and I smile. Masen must have plans with his girl.

"Well, that sounds like fun," Edward says into his phone. After a moment, he glances back at me as he continues speaking. "We're fine—just hanging out on the beach, soaking up the sun."

Edward winks and smiles, so I know the conversation is turning around to us, now. I'm starting to feel just a little nervous, knowing where it's heading.

"Yeah, she was," he continues looking at me and smiling. I'm starting to feel antsy—like I need to find something to do to distract myself. Edward chuckles, his eyes sparkling at me. "Yeah. Definitely."

I smile and look down—having no clue what's being said at this point—but then I notice the sunscreen. Picking it up, I wave it at Edward, silently asking if he'd like me to put some on him. He nods and continues speaking as I move to his side, uncapping the sunscreen tube.

"That's actually the other reason I called..."

I'm just stuck for a moment, watching and waiting.

"I've been thinking…and I've already talked this over with Bella…and I've decided to move to Washington—well, back to Forks." Edward breathes a soft laugh and smiles. "Yeah, I am… Yeah, and maybe I'll see my son once in a while, too."

So far, so good, I think, squeezing sunscreen into my palm to start slathering up Edward's right shoulder and upper arm. It makes me think of that day on Second Beach, just over two months ago, when we were patching up a friendship and rekindling our relationship, without even realizing it.

"No, I'm figuring on just renting an apartment for the time being, until we get everything all sorted out."

I glance up at Edward's face, a little curious, wondering if "we"involves me or just Masen. But I just continue applying sunscreen down Edward's forearm.

"In a month." He pauses. "I'll find work. And I'll sell the house."

He says it like both things are a piece of cake, but I know he'll do whatever it takes.

"Well, I'll get rid of some stuff, but I'll pack the rest and have it shipped out." He pauses again, listening. "I wouldn't dream of that, Mase. I'll just pack it up and move it, and you can sort through it when you come home—wherever home may be. We have time to figure out the details."

Moving around to Edward's back with the sunscreen, I feel a twinge of sadness at him telling Masen he'll basically box up Masen's life and move it to wherever home may be. It sounds so up in the air and indefinite and certainly not very homey.

I had a rather nomadic childhood, but Dad's house was always a constant. It was my home base. That's partly why I feel attached to it now. So I really feel for Masen—their house is the only home he knows. Even though he's eighteen, it's going to be hard to leave his childhood home behind, and a temporary apartment isn't much of a substitute for that.

Edward shifts his phone to his right hand and ear, as I work my way around his back with the sunscreen. "I can fly you home for a weekend before I move, and we'll fly back for visits so you can see everyone. And I'm sure Grandma and Grandpa would be happy to have you, if you wanted to stay for a few weeks after summer session."

I feel better hearing Edward give his son those options. Still, I can't help thinking how much of an impact this move will have on Masen. His home in Chicago won't even be his home base anymore. Some apartment will be. Ugh.

I realize I've stalled out again, thinking. Getting back to business with the sunscreen, I work my way around Edward's left shoulder and continue onto his upper arm.

"Not yet," he tells Masen. "I'll give them a call tomorrow. And like I said, we'll have a little time to work out all the details, okay?"

He sighs and my eyes flit to his face, but I think that was the sound of relief.

"Thanks, Mase," he says softly, smiling. "I appreciate you being so understanding."

He smiles at me as I finish up with his left forearm, and I think Masen must be okay with this.

"Yeah, okay. That's all I wanted to tell you," Edward tells him. And then he laughs. "Yeah, I guess so, huh? Well, you have fun tonight. Let me know how tomorrow goes."

His smile morphs into a frown. "Your orientation meeting… Don't tell me you forgot."

And then the smile returns. "All right. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow, then. Love you, Mase. Take care."

I toss the sunscreen tube into my bag as Edward ends the call and looks up at me. "He seems pretty okay with it. Surprised, of course. But agreeable. His biggest concerns were that I would throw out his stuff, and that he wouldn't get to see the house or his friends again."

"Well, of course. That's understandable. But I think it's good you're willing to give him the opportunity to fly back before you leave, and to let him stay with your mom and dad for a few weeks, later in the summer."

"Yeah. I want him to realize he can always go back and visit, at least."

I nod. His words make me think of the past, and his own father's decision to move, but I brush those pointless thoughts aside. Edward and I have a future in the works now, and some lost time to make up for.

"I'm curious about something…" I tell him.

"What?"

"Well, last night, you asked if I would help you find a place in Forks, and I told you I would." I pause and he nods. "I assumed you meant a house—that you were looking to buy a home. But just now you told Masen you'd find an apartment to live in temporarily until you get things figured out…?"

"Yeah…?

"Why don't you just stay at my place?"

He hesitates. "Stay with you?"

"Yeah. You could just move in with me. I can make room. For Masen, too, of course. You know, for as long as you need…or…want."

"For as long as I want?" There's a certain tone to his voice. And a little light in his eyes. And a tell-tale lift at the corner of his mouth. And I smile, because he's such an open book, sometimes.

"Yeah." I nod. "For as long as you want…a few weeks…several months…or even…all the Julys…"

His bright green eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile grows. "What about the other months? All the Augusts, the Septembers…Decembers…Mays…"

I can't control my smile. "All those, too."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked it! Let me know and I will send you Edward's call to Masen from EPOV. :) **


	39. Future in the Works

**Indelible**

**A/N: **Thank you for the love for chapter 38. I think I managed to get the behind-the-scenes version of Edward's conversation with Masen to those of you who reviewed. (Unless you reviewed as a guest.)

Back to the beach…from EPOV. :)

* * *

**Chapter 39: Future in the Works**

As the first full day of our vacation together continues, I'm feeling less serene and relaxed than you'd imagine a man would feel, spending a warm, sunny day on the beach with the love of his life. Instead I'm animated and energized, overjoyed that all our imagined might-have-been's of the past are becoming the will-be's of a real future together.

Of course I agreed, when she suggested I move in with her. That's even more than the "everything" I told her I was looking forward to in moving. Visions of a daily life together flash through my mind like brilliant neon signs, impossible to ignore. But best of all, I know I'm not alone in my excitement. Bella can't stop grinning either.

Our conversation bounces from topic to topic as we enjoy our surroundings—soaking up the sun, cooling off in the surf, and sneaking touches and kisses as we swim and float over the incoming ocean swells. We manage just fine though, keeping up with each other's non sequiturs, random questions, and concerns as we begin to plot our course together.

"Do you still want to come to Chicago?" I think to ask, as we pop up out of the water, after diving under a wave.

"Why wouldn't I?" she asks, smoothing her wet hair back from her face.

"I was just thinking, with me moving in with you, we won't need two households worth of stuff, so there won't be much to pack up—just Masen's room, my study, and my personal things—clothes and such. That's probably all I'll need, really."

She frowns. "What are you going to do with the rest of your things?"

I shrug. "Maybe give some away, and then sell, donate, or throw out the rest."

Her frown deepens. "But the house should feel like _ours_, not just mine. I don't want you to feel like a guest, living among my things."

I reach for her and pull her close in the water, kissing that little frown wrinkle above her nose.

"Bella, I'm not attached to my utilitarian hodge-podge, and we don't need it cluttering up the house, just to make me feel like I belong there. Home is where the heart is, not where the furnishings are. Hell, I'd be content to sit on the floor and sleep with Fitz, as long as I get to be under the same roof with you." She rolls her eyes and I laugh as we float over a small wave.

"Well, okay, that's only half true—I'd definitely rather sleep with you than Fitz." I reach down, grasping her thighs and lifting her, and tightening her arms around my shoulders, she wraps her legs around my waist.

As if I haven't had a hard enough time maintaining out here in public as it is. She's practically naked, after all in that blue two-piece—all soft skin, long legs, and cleavage. And I know exactly how attractive I find her when she _is_ naked. I also have perfect recall of everything we've done together recently. Nakedly.

I just can't recall what we were talking about a moment ago, now that my libido is all fired up again…

"I hate to say this, Edward, but you'll probably be sleeping with both of us, unless I can get Fitz retrained. He's used to sleeping with me."

I fight to refocus, pushing through the sexy haze of Bella wrapped around me and pressed up against me. We were talking about furnishings, and then I brought up Fitz. And I'd completely forgotten he sleeps with her. He was at Angela and Ben's Friday night, when we slept on the fold-out couch in the den. Now I'm wondering where that leaves me. And Fitz. And now I'm the one frowning.

"Well, as long as Fitz won't have to sleep between us…?" Bella bursts into laughter as another ocean swell lifts us, providing me with a bit of friction I try valiantly to ignore.

"Fitz doesn't sleep _in_ my bed! He sleeps on top of it! By my feet. But I'll get him a doggy bed and work on retraining him," she promises with a smile. "Now let's get back to talking about Chicago… I do still want to come, if you'd like me to."

"Of course, I would." I grin, happy we won't have to wait a month to see each other again. Or to do all the other things we've been enjoying together—with or without our clothes on. "Maybe you can come sooner rather than later, to help me sort through the house. You can help me decide what to keep and what to toss…what will fit, what won't…what you need, what you don't..."

She smiles. "Yeah. And I can start packing up a little while you're at work or organize, if you want to have a garage sale."

"Yeah. But I promise we'll have some fun, too." I smile as I squeeze her butt—it's still right there in my hands, after all. She jerks against me with a little squeal, and I succumb to temptation, leaning in to kiss her, while pressing her more firmly against me. But just as we begin to lose sense of our surroundings, nearby splashing and shrieks of laughter intrude.

Parting abruptly, we turn to see a group of kids passing by a little closer in to the shore—two swimming and two more chasing them on boogie boards, flinging a strand of seaweed at each other. Looking back at Bella, I can see she's blushing, though I doubt those kids were paying any attention to us.

"I'll have to try and remember this is a family-friendly beach," I tell her with a sheepish grin and a wistful sigh.

She laughs, blushing just a little more deeply. "You and me, both."

*I*

Once we've gotten out and dried off a little, we head back down the beach to the hotel. It's late in the afternoon and we decide to stop for drinks and something light to eat, since we won't be having dinner until much later this evening.

Seated at a table beneath an umbrella at the poolside bar and grill, we order chips and salsa and a chicken wrap to share. While Bella sips at her margarita and I drink my beer, we dig out our phones, compare calendars, and work out a timeline for her to come to Chicago.

We're leaving San Diego this Friday, June 21, and Bella decides to come the following Friday and stay through the first week of July. She'll have to clear it with Eric Yorkie at the Forks Forum, but she's confident she'll be able to get most of her first _Focus on Forks _page done ahead of time. If all goes according to plan, we'll only be spending two weeks apart after that, and then I'll be in Forks.

With our drinks and food finished and our plans made, we decide to head back up to our room. We need to clean up, and Bella wants to try to contact Eric so she can book her flight if he's agreeable. That will still leave us with a couple hours free before dinner, and I'm already thinking about how we might possibly pass the time.

*I*

On Tuesday morning, Bella is still sleeping like a champ when I wake up a little after eight. But we had a lot to celebrate last night. Besides my move and our decision to live together, Eric gave Bella the green light, and she booked her ten-day trip to Chicago. So, after champagne with dinner and a drink at the Sunset Bar, followed by a celebration of a more intimate nature in our room afterwards, I'm pretty sure Bella needs her sleep. So, rather than disturb her, I get out of bed quietly, tiptoe off to the bathroom, get dressed, and head downstairs.

I check out the bike rentals first. Last night we talked about getting out and about for a little exercise today, and we agreed a bike ride sounded fun. Armed with information to report back to Bella, I head off to the little coffee shop and bakery on the hotel grounds next.

On the way there, I decide to call into work and talk to Tia Hernandez in HR. She gives me a rundown of what I'll need to do prior to leaving, tells me she'll email me some forms to fill out, and adds that I need to get a brief letter of resignation to her as soon as possible, so she has it in writing. I can fax that to her from the hotel, so I put that on my agenda for today. And then I pick up breakfast.

When I get back upstairs, Bella is still in bed, but she rolls over, soft brown eyes blinking, when I steal into the room, softly closing the door behind me. She looks all warm and cozy, making me wonder why the hell I thought getting out of bed was a good idea.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I tell her as I set our breakfast on the table and begin organizing what I brought.

"Good morning. You went and got breakfast?" she asks, yawning halfway through her question.

"Yeah. I checked out the bike rentals and then I picked up some coffee, orange juice, and bagels. I couldn't remember whether you liked butter or cream cheese, so I brought both."

"Thank you." She giggles as I turn and head across the room to her. "I can't believe you're really wearing that shirt."

She's talking about the _Seattle is for Lovers_ T-shirt she gave me on Sunday. It may be a corny, touristy souvenir, but the sentiment says it all: Seattle is where we reclaimed each other.

"What? I like it. I'm partial to the slogan."

"Same here," she says with a soft smile as she rolls onto her back, stretching her arms up for a hug.

"Well, maybe you should wear yours today, too, then," I tell her, slipping off my flip-flops and scooping her into my arms as I sink back down onto the bed. "We would look fantastically awesome together on a tandem bike."

She blinks and bursts into a wide smile. "A _tandem_? Are you serious? They have them here?"

"I am and they do. Have you ever ridden one?"

She shakes her head. "No. Have you?"

"Nope. But I wouldn't mind taking our relationship to that next level." She laughs and I can't resist kissing her.

"Well, nothing says '_soulmates_' quite like a tandem bike ride—in matching shirts," she says. "But before I get dressed, I think I should go brush my teeth, and you should get undressed…" She smiles and waggles an eyebrow suggestively, as she starts tugging my shirt up. I can't help it. I laugh outright. She's just so cute. And she knows exactly how to charm the shirt and pants right off me.

"I like where you're going with this, my little _soulmate_." Rolling to the side, I start peeling off my shirt.

"Don't go anywhere," she says, pointing a finger at me as she climbs out of bed.

I just shake my head and snort a laugh. As if.

*I*

We finally get around to our bagels and coffee, only it's cold coffee now. But Bella suggests we pour it over ice and pretend we wanted iced coffee all along. My woman is not just lovely, she's brilliant and resourceful, too.

Once we've eaten, we go get ourselves a tandem bike and a map of the area with suggested routes, and we head out for a ride—looking like a pair of silly soulmates.

We cruise the coastal bike trail around Coronado Island and stop off at the post office in town, so Bella can mail off her mom's birthday gift and card. Then we head south along the Silver Strand—a seven-mile sandy isthmus along San Diego Bay, connecting Coronado to Imperial Beach. The ride is mostly flat and fairly easy with little wind, and we have quite an entertaining time during our first-ever tandem experience.

By the time we return to Coronado, we've had about twenty miles of tandem touring in the sunshine, with a few brief stops along the way, and now we're hungry and thirsty and ready for lunch.

Picking up some street tacos and sodas from a little Mexican café, we ride to a nearby park for an impromptu picnic lunch. Sitting on a shady patch of grass, we have a clear view across the bay to downtown San Diego in the distance.

I'm sprawled out in the grass, already done eating lunch, and Bella is just finishing up, when I get a call on my cell.

"I should probably take this—it's my mom," I tell Bella, sitting up and looking at my phone.

She nods. "Sure. Go ahead. Do you want me to…?" She gestures over her shoulder with her thumb.

"No. Stay put." Reaching over, I pat her leg as I hold the phone up to my ear.

"Hey, Mom."

"_Hi, Edward. Dad's here, too. I have you on speaker."_

I feel a twinge of concern. It's not unusual to get both of my parents on the line at once, but today is Tuesday, and Dad is usually out playing golf.

"Hi, Dad. Is everything okay?"

"_Hello, Edward. Yes, everything's fine. I just got back from golfing and we decided we'd try and give you a call."_ That's when I remember it's after three thirty, their time.

"Oh. I was wondering what you were doing home. I forgot about the time difference. What's up?" My eyes flicker back to Bella, watching me for clues as she hears my half of the conversation.

"_Nothing, dear," _Mom says._ "I was just putting Masey's favorite pot roast into the oven for dinner later, and that got me thinking about him and wondering how everything's been going. And when I mentioned that to Dad… Well, we decided to give you a call. Is this a bad time? Are you busy?"_

"No, this is fine. I was planning on giving you a call today, anyway. Everything has been going really well." I wink at Bella and we exchange a smile as I begin filling in my parents.

"We got Mase settled in his dorm on Sunday and he and his roommate seemed to hit it off. He's met a lot of fellow students already and he's been keeping busy. I think he's really excited to be there. And he's already seen Bree twice, so I'm sure that's part of it."

Mom laughs. _"Leave it to Masey to find himself a college girlfriend before he's even started school." _

I chuckle. "Yeah. It is kind of funny how that worked out for him."

"_Well, we're glad to hear he's happy and settling in," _Dad says.

"_How about you, Edward? Did you have a nice time with Bella?" _Mom asks.

I'd told them the plan—that we'd spend Friday night at Bella's in Forks and then Saturday and Sunday together in Seattle before she had to leave for San Diego. I also told them about Renee Dwyer's seemingly implausible offer. They just don't know I finally took her up on that offer.

"I had a wonderful time with Bella," I tell them, smiling at her. "I'd say we both had quite an amazing time together. And…we still _are_, as a matter of fact." I grin now and Bella smiles back at me. But then she starts chewing on her lip, probably worrying how they'll react to this bit of news—as well as the other news I have to impart.

"_Bella didn't go to San Diego?" _Mom asks.

"No, she went. But I took Bella's mom up on her offer and I followed her." Still smiling, I reach over for Bella's hand and she quits chewing her lip and gives me a tentative smile.

"_You're in San Diego?"_ Dad asks, but Mom starts gushing before I can answer him.

"_Oh, sweetheart, you decided to go, after all! I had a feeling you'd quit talking yourself out of it and just go. Didn't I tell you that, Carlisle?"_

"_You did, dear. And clearly you were right. So, Masen was okay with you leaving, Edward?"_

"_Oh, of course he was, Carlisle! I told you it would be just like taking him to the playground as a child—the minute he saw there were other children to play with, he'd be off and running."_

Bella's smile is less tentative now, because even though I can't get a word in edgewise, I'm smiling and nodding as I listen. Not only is Mom right about Masen, but this is how three-way phone conversations with my parents always go—they talk to each other, while talking to me. Now I have to sift through what was said and respond to the parts addressed to me.

"So, yeah… I realized Masen would be fine on his own, once I got him settled, and he _was_ completely okay with me leaving early to join Bella. I've kept in contact with him and like I said, he's been keeping busy. So now, Bella and I are in San Diego together until Friday, relaxing, reconnecting, and…just really enjoying ourselves."

"_And_ each other," Bella whispers, giving me a conspiratorial little grin. I stifle my laugh and nod wholeheartedly as I begin sliding my hand up her thigh with wicked intent, but she halts my hand's movement with a giggle and a blush. So cute.

"_Oh, Edward, that's wonderful, _Mom is saying._ "We're so glad you and Bella were able to get a little more time together."_

"Yeah. Same here. But we want more time together. And we want…_more_…together. So, that's the other reason I was planning to call you today… I've decided to move to Forks so we _can_ be together."

"_You're moving to Forks?! Oh my goodness, Edward...! You two must have really gotten quite serious! Carlisle, he's moving to Forks!"_

"_I heard him, dear. What about work, Edward? You had a promotion coming up. Are you sure this is what you want to do?"_

"I've never been surer about anything, Dad. I'll find work, and if it means a career change, so be it. As much as I've enjoyed my job and the satisfaction it's given me, I want more in my life. Anyway, I've already given notice and my last day will be July 18. I'm hoping to move that same weekend."

"_That's just a month away!" _Mom gasps_. "This is all happening so quickly!"_

"_This does seem a bit rushed, Edward,"_ Dad agrees.

"Maybe. Or dreadfully slow, if you consider all the time we've lost," I tell him, but I'm looking at Bella as I speak. "But the amazing thing is, we've gotten a second chance. And I don't want to waste any more time. Like you've always said, Dad… 'You envision what you want for the future, and the steps you'll have to take to get there, and then you just start taking those steps.' Only I don't have to _envision_ what I want for the future…I'm looking at her."

"_Oh, sweetheart…" _Mom's voice trails off, sounding kind of emotional.

Bella's eyes have gone a bit shiny and her bottom lip is trembling as I reach up and caress her cheek.

"I love you," she murmurs, covering my hand with hers.

"I know," I whisper. "And I love you." I lean over, stealing a quick kiss.

There's been some shuffling on the other end of the line, Dad's voice saying 'here,' followed by the sound of Mom blowing her nose, so she's definitely gotten all emotional.

"I'll be closer to Masen, too, Mom," I think to point out. "And we can always fly back for visits."

"_Oh, I know,"_ she says, still sounding a little choked up. _"And of course we're going to miss you and Masey like crazy, Edward. But I'm just so very happy for you. I have a feeling you've thought about Bella for a very long time…" _Mom's voice trails off as she blows her nose again.

"I have," I agree, nodding and smiling softly at Bella_._

"_So, she's there with you right now?" _Mom asks after a moment, her voice sounding slightly more composed once again.

"Yeah, she is. We just got back from a long bike ride out by the beach and stopped for some lunch in a park."

"_Oh, what a nice way to spend the day. But we didn't mean to interrupt your lunch…" _

"No, it's fine. We've already eaten."

"_Oh, I see. Well, we were looking forward to seeing Bella when she came to visit, but now with you moving…"_

"She's still coming to Chicago. She'll be there the first week of July to help me sort and start packing."

"_Oh, that's very sweet of her! Well, have a good rest of your trip—both of you. And please tell Bella we said hello, and that we're anxious to see her."_

"Thanks. I will, Mom."

"_And let us know if we can do anything to help, son."_

"Thanks, Dad, I appreciate that. I guess I'll probably see you both sometime this weekend. We can talk more then."

"_All right, sweetheart. Goodbye, Edward."_

"_Goodbye, son."_

"Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad."

Ending the call, I smile at Bella. "Well, that's done."

She nods, still looking a little uncertain. "How did they take it?" she asks. I smile as she starts chewing at her lip once again. But I just reach up, freeing that sweet little lip from those tormenting teeth.

"Well, they didn't seem too surprised I decided to come to San Diego…"

"You'd already told them about that?" Bella asks.

"Yeah, a couple days after the fact. At the time, I didn't think I'd feel right about leaving Masen…but we both know how that turned out, given everything that happened between _us_." She laughs, nodding.

"And of course, they were really surprised about me moving. They thought it seemed rather fast, but I don't know, does it seem too fast to you? I don't want to be rushing you into anything."

She hesitates for a moment, before answering. "No, it doesn't seem too fast, really. I mean, if we'd just met, I'd say yes, but…"

"But we didn't just meet," I finish for her. "We already know each other. I mean, to me, it was kind of like we…_continued_…sort of."

"Yeah, exactly. So I don't think we have to worry about what we're getting into. I trust this." She grins. "You don't scare me, Edward Cullen."

"Well, good," I chuckle. "And I feel the same way about this. But anyway, my mom got a little emotional—probably partly because of the shock, but mostly because she was happy for me. She said that, in fact. My dad was a little more reserved and concerned—mostly about work—but he's always been a little more cautious. Mom also said to tell you hi, and that they're looking forward to seeing you. And Dad said to let him know if I needed their help—which I probably will."

Bella nods. "I liked what you said," she says after a moment. "About knowing what you want for the future. And the way you said it… That was actually very touching."

I smile as I lean close and wrap my arms around her. "I want you," I tell her, although I know she's already quite aware of that. "More than anything else, I want you." I tip her face up to mine and kiss her, feeling good about the sudden inspiration I had, while speaking to my father. It was partly for her, after all. Although Bella is not nearly as timid and shy as she was as a teenager, I think she still feels a little intimidated by my father. But I don't want her to feel that way. As a father of my own college-aged kid, I understand a little better now, where he was coming from. And I hope she does, too.

"You know, even if my parents disapproved of my decision, it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change a thing for me. But fortunately, they don't disapprove."

She smiles—really smiles—and so do I.

* * *

**A/N: Well…? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, and particularly on that phone conversation with the Cullens. Esme did most of the talking, but that's how it usually goes in our house when we double-team our kids on the phone. :)**

**We're heading for a time jump next chapter. I'll be collapsing the next week and a half into one chapter, so I can (finally) land us all in Chicago. ;)**


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